Three Weeks
by tFantasyFan
Summary: 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. Raphael is missing and each passing minute seems more hopeless than the last. Some events force us to realize that time is far more important than we make it out to be.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello again! Celebrate with me, for I have FINALLY purchased my VERY OWN copy of the 2007 TMNT movie! In my joy, I am writing something new(which popped up and got started at about 3 in the morning)._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles' copyrights (even if I do own a DVD now), and every time I'm forced to say it, I think a kitten dies. We all suffer in the end. How do you sleep at night?_

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Life, it has been said, is completely, totally and undeniably unfair. You are given lemons and told to make lemonade, all the while knowing that if you fail, fate will proceed to trip you up. Wearily settling into a meditative pose, Splinter reflected on the idea as he thought of his son.

From early on, Hamato Raphael had been aware of this fact: he had failed in making lemonade often because of it. So often had he failed, in fact, that life no longer found his attempts amusing, and had decided to skip the middleman in favor of shoving lemons directly down his throat. When this started happening, Raphael adopted the saying 'bite off more than you can chew, then chew it.' This stubborn outlook had served to bolster his strength and protectiveness to nearly obsessive levels over time, as well as helping him to create the sometimes very poorly held-together shell of apathy he had acquired.

It was, as a result, simply against his nature to run away from anything. As far as he was concerned, life wouldn't throw him anything that couldn't be handled. This attitude, in theory, could have proven true if he didn't try to shoulder everything alone. He took on the pain of the world above them without question, shouldered its burdens and confronted any problems he saw with a singleminded aggressiveness his brothers often saw to be a lack of self-control. The red-banded ninja saw it as doing the only thing he knew to protect his family, while Leonardo saw it as reckless endangerment. It led to many arguments between the second youngest and the eldest. There had been no such arguments in almost 3 weeks. It is, after all, impossible to argue with someone who is not there. Splinter's ears twitched as he heard the entrance to their home open. He rose stiffly and exited his chambers to greet his sons.

Michelangelo, Leonardo and Donatello hung their disguises with heavy hearts upon entering the lair. They immediately knelt at their sensei's feet, knowing only too well the disappointment he would be feeling.

"My sons," he greeted softly, successfully hiding the pain that was slowly chipping away at his heart. Seeing it would only cause them more guilt, and the last thing he wanted was to burden them further. "I take it there were no signs of Raphael's whereabouts?" Their heads bowed further.

"None. I'm sorry, Father," Leonardo responded, voice strained. His brother's disappearance had taken a heavy toll on him: though he tried to hide it, everyone could see the anguished glances he cast at the hothead's bedroom door, at the punching bag, at the pair of sai mounted carefully on the dojo wall. The old rat nodded slowly.

"It is alright, my sons. I have complete faith that we will locate your brother before too long. We must not give up hope."

"Yes, sensei," they murmured in unison, rising from their positions at his feet and heading in different directions. Mikey could hear his father's broken sigh as the old rat shuffled back to his meditations, and responded with a sigh of his own. The lair was too quiet when they were home. Not to say it was silent: Mikey could even now make out the sounds of Leo training, Donatello's fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard, searching for anything that could lead them to Raph (these searches always led to painful dead ends, like the one they had hit tonight), the T.V. playing an infomercial with the volume nearly muted. But there was no tell-tale pounding on the punching bag, no loud complaints about the lack of cereal, no creaking hammock or familiar snores. It was as though there were nothing to prove Raphael existed anymore, and the thought was driving Mikey insane.

_3 weeks without his brother._

They'd gotten no messages from any enemies to lure them into a trap (a trap they would willingly walk into, if only to see their brother again for a few moments). They had infiltrated both the Foot and the Purple Dragons, trying to ignore the feeling of being incomplete, the lack of a bulky, pissed-off brother having all their backs no matter what, but to no avail. There hadn't been a trace of him.

_3 weeks without so much as a hint indicating he was alive. _

If he even was alive. Mikey felt the tears rushing to his eyes as he tried to force the thought away. But it had been brought into his head and stubbornly took root, making his heart beat faster, his stomach clench painfully as he choked on a sob. Not his big brother...Not Raphie...If they lost Raph, he didn't know what he would do.

"Mikey?" The orange-banded turtle jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. He sniffled and tried to hold back more tears, turning to face his concerned older brothers. _Raph wouldn't be crying_, he thought - before all control left him and he broke down completely, clutching Donatello like a lifeline while Leo sat down next to them and rubbed his shell. "Oh, Mikey, it's okay," the olive-green turtle said softly. "We'll have him back and grouchier than ever before you know it."

"It's-It's _not_ okay! It's not _fair_! What if we don't find him? What if he's dead and we never even know?"

"Don't say that. He's alive. He has to be." Leo stated firmly, free hand curling into a fist on his knee. "And if he's not-" he swallowed difficultly, fighting his own tears.

"If he's not alive when we find him, we won't let anybody get away with it." Donnie hugged his remaining younger brother more tightly, something fiery in his gaze as it locked onto Leo's. Mikey sniffled again.

"I miss him," he whimpered miserably. "I miss his stupid bad attitude and his snoring and getting in trouble for taking his cereal, even if he didn't really mind it, because he had to keep up his tough-guy thing, and I miss playing with him." Donnie snorted a little.

"He wouldn't call it playing," he pointed out almost casually. The wavering in his voice gave away just how much Mikey's breakdown was affecting him. "We all miss him, Mike. And we'll be sure to let him know just how much when we see him again." The youngest turtle straightened up, wiping his eyes and nodding. "Now go get some sleep. We'll be going out again in a few hours."

"Yeah...Sorry, bros, I just got a little..." Leo waved it off.

"You don't need to apologize, Mikey. It wouldn't have done any good to hold all that in. I'll wake you up to eat before we leave." With a slight smile, the nunchuck wielder walked towards his bedroom. The eldest turtle sank down next to Donnie with a heavy sigh. "I never thought I'd see the day Mikey became a pessimist."

"This is really starting to take a toll on him. It's taking a toll on all of us. I never..." The genius paused. "I never realized how much I'd miss him if he got taken. It just didn't seem plausible; I mean, he's Raph, and that fact alone made him seem invincible. I forget so often how vital everyone is to this family."

"I know what you mean," the eldest conceded. "I just saw him as the hothead, the muscle, and it was so easy to forget that he's younger than us. That he needed to be protected as fiercely as he protects us. I don't know how much longer we can do this, Don. If Mikey gives up..." There was a long silence following his words, and he knew their minds were both on the same page. They didn't have leads to follow anymore. It had been 3 weeks. They were all losing hope fast. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to even think it, but it couldn't be helped.

Raphael was probably dead, and if he wasn't, he probably wished he was.

Leo felt guilt stab sharply at his insides. If Raph were here, despite his extremely pessimistic outlook on things, he would refuse to believe his brothers were anything but alive and well. If Raph were here, they probably wouldn't have come home from searching. The elder turtle's hands curled into fists again. _This is all my fault._

In his room, Splinter sagged. He could feel his sons slowly losing hope, and could not deny that his own was beginning to slip away as well. Eyes closing, he allowed a tear to make its way free as he remembered how this all began...

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_Please, please review and let me know what you think. I can offer cookie dough AND cupcakes. I appreciate honesty, so don't be afraid of hurting my feelings. My major concerns: being confusing and (more importantly) having anyone too out of character. I will always go on about those fears. Thanks for reading, either way! And I am giving up on indentations._


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's the next part I had prepared in advance...I know, I know, how special lol. _

_Previous chapter: Raph is missing, his brothers are angsting, and Splinter decided to have a flashback. You know, I might just stop this previous chapter business. Why the heck are you skipping chapters anyway?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles...Ugh...Now I feel sick. Why oh why? *angst*_

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Today, it seemed, was going to be a difficult day. Splinter's tail lashed irritably as the sound of raised voices carried through his chamber door. As a rule, he would not intervene unless absolutely necessary. His children were growing older, and would have to learn to deal with these confrontations on their own sooner or later.

Honestly, he was at a loss as to what to do with those two. In many ways, they were exactly alike: both determined to keep their families safe, but with conflicting views as to how. Both desperate to better themselves, both apt to hide emotion when it was most critical to let it out, both so concerned with being strong. And that incessant stubbornness! To get either to give ground in an argument was like pulling teeth.

Hearing the subtle change in tone that typically predicted the drawing of weapons or sudden use of fists, Splinter sighed and made his way to the door, wondering how he could get through to his children for more than a few hours at a time. The door slid open and he observed the scene playing out before him. Raphael, hands clenched into fists and visibly shaking with the effort it was taking not to strike his brother. There was blood on his knuckles, presumably from striking the wall at some point or another. Splinter felt a pang upon seeing it; no matter how many times he tried to channel the hothead's anger, nothing seemed to work. Leonardo stood with his arms crossed, only the dark look on his face and tension in his arms showing his anger at the younger turtle.

"-it's not yer business what I do on my own time!" The red-banded turtle shouted fiercely, eyes glowering. Tension crackled in the air as Leonardo shifted his feet firmly.

"It _is _my business when you put our family in danger, Raphael!" Splinter felt his ears flatten against his head: perhaps he should have paid more attention to what was being said earlier. "You can't keep running off to beat up whatever punks you come across! There _are_ other ways of taking out your frustration! You can't just expose yourself like that without considering the consequences! You never stop to think about the consequences!"

"You got somethin' yer tryin to say, Leo? Go ahead and say it then, if yer so much better than me!" Raph snapped venomously. It was at this point that the practice of thinking before speaking left the eldest turtle completely. He sounded angrier than he had in years of difficult fights.

"You're damn right I've got something to say! Just because you don't give a damn if you lead half the city down here doesn't mean we don't! One of these days, you'll get into something over your head and we'll all end up strapped to an examination table somewhere!" Raphael opened his mouth angrily, started to speak, but Leonardo, it seemed, was too far gone to listen. The words were bursting out before he could register what he was saying, his repressed anxieties and frustrations getting the better of him for once.

"What's wrong with you? You never listen to an order, even when you know it's the right thing to do, just because you can't stand the fact that it came from me! Even though I'm just trying to keep you all safe! I'm not trying to rule over your life, but at even the smallest suggestion or warning, you act like I've asked you to give up being a ninja altogether! You're foul-tempered, and violent, you've nearly killed all of us at some point or another, you always get us into some kind of bad fight, but that's not enough, you just _have _to keep pushing! I swear, it's like you want us to get found! It's like you enjoy seeing us hurt! And I've had enough of it! What am I supposed to do, Raph, tell me, when you keep running off like you can't wait to prove exactly how much you hate us?"

Even as he spoke the words, he knew he had gone too far. Splinter was frozen in his shock. Never had he expected to hear the eldest speak in such a volatile manner. There was a sharp intake of breath from all in the room, the sentence echoing around in the sudden silence, and all eyes turned to Raphael. His anger, which had flared outward like a physical force, quieted abruptly, eyes dropping the opaqueness he worked so hard to maintain as the statement registered. A strange new emotion began to radiate from him, cold and unwarranted. He flinched as though he had taken a physical blow and looked away.

Michelangelo and Donatello, watching from the sidelines, fought valiantly to comprehend what had just happened. In all the years of arguments, even the ones that escalated to blows, the 'H-word' had _never_ been broached. It was almost like an unwritten rule. Mikey tried to get his mouth to stay closed, but it didn't seem to be working properly anymore, not with Raph's eyes broadcasting so clearly what he felt.

_-Shame, betrayal, shock, guilt, anger, a stab of genuine hurt, cold acceptance- _

His tough, take-no-prisoners big brother, who never admitted to being afraid of anything, suddenly seemed much more vulnerable. Why wasn't he in Leo's face, screaming denial, standing up for himself like he always did? The orange-clad ninja felt the beginning sparks of protective anger take root in his stomach as he recognized _pain._

"If that's what you think...Then I got no right to judge ya for it." The words came out through gritted teeth like shards of ice, piercing the air only to shatter on the floor in the silence. Raph's hands became fists and his shoulders began to shake. "But I _never_- Not fer a fuckin' second, never-" His throat constricted around the sentence, cutting him off before he could complete it.

Donnie, meanwhile, kept his stunned stare on Leonardo, whose face projected shock and horror and guilt as he mentally backpedaled, realizing what his words implied. Raphael, as though in tandem with the older turtle's thoughts, took a step backwards, looking at the floor as he struggled to regain control over himself. He stumbled back another step before shaking his head and heading for the lair door. Leo surged forward desperately, taking hold of his wrist as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

"I-Raph, I _swear_ I didn't mean- Don't leave, please, just- just let me- I didn't-" he fumbled, praying for his brother to just understand, to see how sorry he was, to know that he hadn't meant it like that, not at all. The younger turtle tensed, an odd half-snarl, half-whine escaping from the back of his throat. Shaking off his shock, Master Splinter stepped forward briskly.

"Leonardo," he called sharply, tightly gripping his walking stick. "Release your brother _at once._" The eldest turtle did as he was told, stepping backwards reluctantly. He threw an anguished look to his brother's shell.

"Raph, please," he whispered desperately. Raphael restrained himself from running straight to the exit, breathing hard, hands alternately clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself down. With a soft curse, his fist found itself connecting to the brick wall for the second time that evening. He started for the door, composure disappearing fast. Splinter moved towards him tentatively. "My son," he began in a gentle tone.

The look Raphael cast over his shoulder had his words dissipating in his mouth. His entire body was shaking, blood from his knuckles hitting the floor with a soft dripping sound. He gave off the air of an injured animal, and Splinter suspected he felt he would be unable to stop himelf from injuring those who would console him. To see his son so afraid of losing control caused pain to rise in Splinter's heart in response. Their eyes connected briefly before the younger ninja's began darting around the lair.

_Trapped. He felt trapped. _His father stepped forward, arm outstretched, but he stumbled back again with that strange keening noise.

"I...I'm sorry, sensei, I can't-I don't wanna end up hurtin' nobody, I gotta-I just-" His words came out in a harsh, grating tone, rushed and desperate and even afraid. Even Mikey and Donnie were standing now, looking to their sensei for some kind of instruction, prepared to block his path to the door if he gave the sign. He gave a minute shake of his head; if Raphael felt he couldn't control himself, the rat would not endanger his other sons in an attempt to restrain him. In situations like this, the teen's strength would work to their direct disadvantage.

"Raph, it's alright. Just calm down a little," Donnie said in a soothing tone, arms held carefully out by his waist. The universal no-harm gesture, Mikey thought distractedly. He found himself speaking in the same gentle tone as his genius brother.

"Yeah, bro, you aren't gonna hurt anybody. We trust ya, Raphie-boy, it's okay. I'm sure he didn't mean-" His older brother's amber gaze flickered to him, then hit Leo's again. The leader shifted forwards and time seemed to freeze a little. Emerald green head tilted to the side, panicked and feral and a little wild as he moved again, hands twitching slightly towards his belt. He registered the action and forced them back down to his sides.

"I gotta get outta here," he ground out, words resuming the heated anger he was so used to wielding. Without another word, he shot through the entrance and into the sewer tunnels.

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_Right, so I'll continue this sometime in the future. Reviews, please? *sparkles pitifully*_


	3. Chapter 3

_Right! Here I am with more! I have no idea where I'm going with this, so don't hold your breath, right? Lol. _

_Last chapter: "I gotta get outta here," he ground out, words resuming the heated anger he was so used to wielding. Without another word, he shot through the entrance and into the sewer tunnels. (Seriously considering getting this out of here)_

_Disclaimer: OK, I don't own them, and I'm getting tired of putting one of these in every chapter._

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Mikey watched his brother leave, something rising in his chest and demanding immediate action.

"Raph, wait!" Leo shouted after him. The blue-clad ninja started forward again, not wanting his brother out alone in such a distressed state, feeling sick to his stomach for saying what he had in the first place, realizing he hadn't been able to apologize, only to find himself face-to-face with a now thoroughly pissed-off Michelangelo. He only had a moment to take in the out-of-place dark expression his youngest brother wore before a forest-green fist slammed into his cheek.

Leo heard Donatello and Splinter's exclamations through ringing ears from his new place on the floor. He spat out a small amount of blood and looked up at a teary-eyed, glowering Mikey.

"What the shell is your problem, Leo? Why would you ever even _think_ about saying that? After all the times he's come through for our sorry asses in a fight, even when it got him hurt, even if he had to get in the Shredder's face, why the _hell_ would you say something like that?" He shouted frantically, eyes flickering to the door and back to Leo's face, torn between the need to go after Raph and make sure he didn't do anything stupid and the urge to beat the blue-banded turtle to a pulp in his defense. Anger overruled concern and he chose the latter. Dodging another fist, the oldest brother blinked, unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Mikey didn't mind, continuing to rant.

"He's been trying so _hard_ to be better these past couple weeks! You guys were getting along and he didn't break any of Donnie's stuff and he _didn't_ go topside all the time and he laughed at jokes and didn't lose it or try to beat anyone to a bloody pulp, he was _here_ for the first time in forever, he was _here_ and you just ignored it, just got on him for every little stupid mistake! You made him think we hate him! You made him think we think he hates us! And now he's _gone_ again and what if-what if he doesn't-?"

His voice cracked as Donnie caught him around the waist, dragging him backwards. The purple-clad genius struggled to keep a hold on his suddenly violent brother, sympathy on his face. He, too, had noticed the change in Raphael's behavior recently, had seen how much Michelangelo enjoyed spending time with the big brother who had, for a while, been just as distant as Leo had while in Central America. The youngest looked up to the hothead and had never been ashamed to admit it.

And while everyone had known Leo and Raph would go at it again from time to time, things really had been better. But this argument had gone too far, and the nunchuck wielder was terrified that it had cost him his recently regained best friend. Seeing one of your heroes brought down so quickly and at the same time seeing your brother hurt, the logic-prone turtle mused, could certainly have a way of sending one over the edge. Splinter chose this moment to restore order. His cane came down on the ground with a sharp crack.

"Michelangelo! That is enough! You have no excuse to treat your brother with such disrespect, regardless of his mistakes! I will not tolerate the injuring of one of my sons!"

Mikey's shoulders sagged and he stopped struggling as his actions caught up with him. Defeat and guilt were etched into his features, so unlike him it was disturbing. His eyes watered as he looked at Leo again, silently asking for forgiveness. Leo stood and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's OK to be angry with me," he said softly. "I understand. You just wanted to protect him like he would you." Mikey nodded fervently, grateful for Leo's strange insight into his brothers' thoughts. "I deserved a good punch for saying something so stupid in the first place." With that, he knelt before his father, lowering his head to the floor in apology. "Forgive me, sensei. I lost control and acted dishonorably."

"This is true, Leonardo. You called into question Raphael's love and loyalty towards his family, which has never wavered. I am very disappointed in your poor choice this evening. However...If you have learned your lesson, I will not assign you a punishment in this instance."

"Should-should we go after him? I mean, he was looking really-" Mikey began, cutting the sentence off sharply. Splinter stroked his whiskers as he considered the circumstances.

"I do not believe," he said softly, "that it would be wise to pursue Raphael at the moment. He is...considerably distressed, and may have trouble controlling his reactions. Leonardo: you will contact Mr. Jones to see if he has heard from your brother, while you, Michelangelo, will attempt to contact your brother via his shell cell. See if you cannot convince him to return home." The two nodded and moved away immediately.

Leo returned from the kitchen phone first. "Casey hasn't heard from him tonight, and neither has April. If he talks to one of them, they'll let us know." Michelangelo strode back into the room, looking a little frustrated.

"I got ahold of him," he stated bluntly. "I, uh, tried to talk him into coming back to the lair now, but it was a no-go. He said he wasn't gonna do anythin' stupid, but it didn't sound so definite to me. Couldn't get a location out of him either. When I tried he just said 'I gotta go' and hung up on me." The turtle's face fell sadly. A pang of guilt crossed Leo's face.

"Well, he'll probably be back before morning," Donnie offered, trying to put them at ease. "I mean, Raph always comes back before training unless he crashes at Casey's place, and Casey will call if that happens. We just...need to be patient. He knows you didn't mean it, Leo, he always says things he doesn't mean-"

"But he never said he hated me," the blue-banded turtle pointed out, brooding a little. Donnie sighed.

"Still, you know he knows you didn't mean it. And technically, you accused him of hating you, if that makes it any better." Leo glared at him, annoyed. "He'll come around."

"You would do wisely to listen to Donatello, my son. Raphael understands many things better than you know." Splinter agreed with a proud glance at the genius. "I will retire to my chambers for the night. If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to approach." And with that, the three brothers were left alone. Leo heaved a sigh, sinking onto the couch, followed closely by Mikey, who was still in full-on concerned mode. Donnie glanced at the two of them and huffed in good-natured exasperation.

"Well, I'm going to bed. If he's hurt when he gets here, wake me up." They heard the soft click of his bedroom door and settled themselves to watching the lair entrance.

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_I know, I know, it's a bit rush-y, but I wasn't exactly sure where to go with it. Randomness strikes again...I really gotta get this sorted out lol._


	4. Chapter 4

_I come to you with the conclusion of our little backstory. Thank you so much for the reviews and stuff! Especially the advice on stepping back and figuring things out. I got out a piece of notebook paper and I'm writing out where I want chapters to go. To my utter surprise, it's actually easier to write this now._

_Disclaimer: Oh, for the love of- I don't own them! Now back! Back! *beats back lawyers with one of their own briefcases*_

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Donatello was forced back into the land of the living by a clearly anxious Leonardo. It wasn't so much that Leo was advertising his worry openly, but rather that his shoulders were tensed and pulled back, his mouth drawn into a tight frown as he shook the genius none too gently. These were tell-tale signs that something was wrong. Many people would not be able to pick up these tiny calling cards; the leader had a rather serious personality to begin with, so it wasn't much of a difference if you didn't know him or bother to look.

Donnie (though he hated to admit it) had only recently become versed in the age-old art of Leo-reading. Over the years he had made a habit of getting lost in his lab and consequently going without contact from another living being for days, making it hard to pay attention to the little details of his brothers' body language. Not that he didn't know his brothers like the back of his hand. Likes, dislikes, favorite foods, serious injuries, he could list without missing a beat, for each one of them. He had learned long ago how to dechiper the many layers of Raph and his anger, and Michelangelo was an open book. With big letters and bright pictures. Leo was more difficult.

He had once thought it was simply an older-brother thing. After all, Leonardo seemed more than capable of reading his brothers' minds at any given moment. That theory had been shot down by none other than Raphael, with just a casual remark on how Leo was looking 'pretty pissed.' When Donatello had asked how he could tell, he'd been introduced to the basic postures, poses and facial expressions of what would make a killer manual. Raph had then proceeded to start coaching him in reading between the lines of other people, experienced from years of watching from rooftops and sewer grates. The knowledge had proved invaluable and Donatello now knew how to take, say, a casual greeting and examine the vibe behind it.

In the process, he'd learned a little about what that meant about Raphael. To be able to recognize emotions in others requires the ability to empathize, he figured out courtesy of Splinter. Translation: "Your brother talks tough, but he's pretty much just a big softie." Looking into it further, he realized it should have been obvious. Raph was almost always the one who brought in things like injured kittens until April could find them a home, the first one to jump to a stranger's defense on the street, and Donnie started to see why Mikey could admire him so much, why he ran straight into the hothead's room after a nightmare. Raphael was explosive, prickly, irrational at times, practically the polar opposite of his older brothers, but he very openly (once you'd noticed the signs) _cared_ about things. Shell, the more explosive he got about something, the more likely he was to defend it.

Leo's hand gave him another small shake to fully rouse him and, taking in the expression on his brother's face, Donatello surged up, fumbling with the sheets that were tangled around his legs. As he stood and headed for his bag of medical supplies, wondering how badly Raph had gotten banged up to warrant such a waking, there was a touch to his shoulder. He spun around.

"How bad is he?" The genius asked, voice sharp with concern for his younger brother. Truth be told, he was still a little angry with Leo for losing it with the hothead. Confrontation was something he preferred to avoid, and since Mikey had gotten the punching out of the way, he'd had to move straight on to the forgiving part of his nature. The angry, protective side (the side often overlooked, but still there: after all, he only had two younger brothers) was settling down at a steady pace, knowing Leo felt real regret for what he'd done. The leader shook his head.

"He's-he's not here, Don. Raph hasn't come home." Purple-banded turtle tilted his head to the side, a little exasperated. Hadn't he explained something like this already?

"Well, he was pretty upset, Leo, he'll probably need more time than just a few hours-"

"Look at the clock, Don." Eyes swung to the readout on the digital clock and froze. 7:45 A.M. "I called April, and Casey, but he didn't so much as stop by to say hi last night. He didn't even call. I tried his cell more than once, but there was no answer, and he never came back here." The oldest brother briefed.

Donatello's head was reeling as he stared at the numbers, transfixed. Yes, Raph had been upset, but he _never_ stayed out all night. If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was that Raph always came home, no matter what had happened. For all that he shouted and pushed buttons and stormed off alone, the hothead couldn't stand having his family out of his immediate reach for more than a few hours before getting worried- not that he admitted to that kind of thing. Now he understood why Leo was so concerned. Whipping around sharply, he sat at his computer terminal, bringing the monitor to life.

"I'll get to work tracking his shell cell. You get Mikey and Master Splinter," he said commandingly, more than a little surprised when Leo immediately sprang into action. By the time the others had crowded into his room, the tracking program was up and running.

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"You sure we got the right place, Donnie?" Mikey whispered apprehensively. The genius's eyes swung to him sharply.

"No, Mikey," he said, sarcasm subtle but ever-noticeable, "The program I wrote myself, that worked perfectly every other time I had to use it, is suddenly completely unstable and unreliable. So I decided to close my eyes and point at a map of the city at random and figured this was as good a place as any to look." Forest green hands came up in a defensive stance.

"Okay, I get, bro: chill out. I'll never again call into question your superior knowledge of science-y things and big words." The words were light and playful, and Donnie found a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth despite his annoyance. He sighed, glancing at the building his search had pulled up. If he was honest, Mikey's doubt was justified. It was just an old warehouse in a particularly dilapidated part of the city. Graffiti, broken windows, cracks in the walls and puddles of unknown origin. Nothing special, but this was where the program led them, and the program had never let him down before. The sound of the Battle Shell's door shutting made him jump a little.

"Can we focus, guys?" Leo asked impatiently, arms crossed. "Let's just get Raph and get out of here." He was applying the mellower Leo version of a popular Raph tactic this morning, Don noted, pulling on his trench coat. Act pissed to cover up how worried you are unless or until you have a reason to really worry. And, Don knew, this would also probably include the usual follow-up act: going from worried and unable to hide it to extremely angry for being made to worry over nothing.

The younger siblings nodded sheepishly, knowing better than to start up any kind of goofing-off when Leo was in such a mood. They would have to be careful as it was, Donnie reckoned, since they were going to be out in the open during the weaker daylight hours. They crept closer to the building, staying hidden in the remaining shadows to the best of their ability.

"The signal was coming from the roof," the genius stated, gesturing towards the rather conveniently placed fire escape. Leo nodded firmly, jumping up and effortlessly catching hold of the ladder. The climb was swift and silent, executed in perfect ninja fashion, and Mikey wondered why Raph would come here of all places. It certainly wasn't better than any of his other usual hangouts. They landed on the roof, immediately scanning the area for their brother and signs of ambush. Couldn't be too careful.

But there was nobody there. A few stacks of small crates had been knocked over across the way, and they darted over to them, minds operating on the same wavelength. Broken pieces of wood were tossed aside carefully, scattered across the rooftop at random. Donnie pulled off a particularly large piece and froze. Michelangelo registered the action from the corner of his vision and joined him, Leonardo right on his heels. There were a few moments of silence, then:

"What...What's going on, Donnie?" The youngest turtle asked, eyes darting around their surroundings once again. He'd just opened up a whole new level of paranoid, he realized, gaze traveling back to the sight before him.

Raph's sais. His mask. His belt, elbow-pads, and knee-pads. Arranged methodically into a neat little pile, like the ones he made when he had to clean his room and set objects off to the side at random. Usually because there was an item he really wanted to get to under the garbage. And there, right on top of the pile, was the shell cell they'd tracked. Blue eyes darted to their oldest brother when Donnie didn't answer. Leo's hands were clenched at his sides as his mind processed the strange development. He looked to his brothers.

"We search the rest of the roof, then the inside of the building. Keep an eye out for anything even remotely suspicious. We need to figure out what happened here and that means not missing anything." Donnie wrenched his eyes away from the items, making an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. Mikey simply turned and started looking.

They combed the building over and under, inside and out, even made sure to do so twice as not to overlook anything. The results were less than comforting. In the alley next to the building, as though someone had found it and tossed it aside eagerly, a large silver dart was found innocently reflecting the pale sunlight. Beneath some other crate fragments were the tell-tale signs of a scuffle: scrapes on the concrete, small dark stains that they prayed weren't what they appeared to be (or that they at least didn't belong to who they thought they might belong to), a single broken-off knife blade.

It was fairly obvious that Raphael had been taken.

What really ate at Leo was the fact that if not for the gear, there would have been no signs of their brother's presence at all. Gently gathering his belongings, they headed home to tell their sensei what had been found. Calls were made to their human friends, and the real search began.

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_Okay, now that we've gotten through our little flashback sequence, let's prepare, perhaps, for a cut back to the present. Gotta get the story going. Reviews are requested, not a demand. As long as someone's reading I'm happy lol. There should be another chapter today. Needs a little fine-tuning._


	5. Chapter 5

_Dude, you know what I just realized? By the time the next presidential elections roll around, I'll be old enough to vote. Top that off, you ask? I'll also be old enough to drink. lol the thoughts that catch us off-guard, eh?_

_Here's the second chapter of the day, as I said there would be. Now I gotta sit down and write the rest of it._

_Disclaimer: *pats self down* Nope, no copyrights on me. Sorry. _

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The blaring of the alarm clock had Casey Jones groaning from his place beneath his pillow. One arm proceeded to stretch out haphazardly in search of the button he fondly referred to as 'shut-the-hell-up.' Stretching, he sat up, glancing out the window: Leo and the others would be getting there soon. Since Raph had disappeared, he'd insisted that the remaining 3 brothers include him on their patrol. It didn't leave him much time for sleeping, but that's what you do for family, he figured.

If their situations had been reversed, he knew for a fact Raph would be out there every night, alone or not, busting skulls until he got a clue. It was sort of what they did to show they cared: words didn't matter as much as, say, getting between your best bud and a club-wielding Purple Dragon. That was just the way things worked between them. Hefting his bag of sports equipment over his shoulder, the vigilante picked up his mask.

If he were really honest with himself, he wasn't much help to the turtles at all. Unless they had a definite lead on someone, he typically split off to bust some small-time offenders and 'question' them. So far, that had gotten him nothing but stress relief. Not much stress relief, as every time he got no answers, his worry and frustration only doubled. Nobody had any clue what he was talking about, but that may have been from the fact that he tried to be subtle about it. Casey Jones and Subtle don't mix too well. But he couldn't exactly go around with a megaphone, blaring the guys' existence to the world - even if it led somewhere, Leo would probably have an ulcer or something.

Part of him wondered why Raph hadn't called him or stopped by on that night. He'd gotten the gist of the story from Mikey after the fact: it had been vague, but he wasn't much of a detail guy anyway. All he'd really needed to hear was 'fight' and 'Leo' in the same sentence (heck, he'd kind of figured that one out when he caught sight of the bruise on Leo's face, but when he asked, the ninja insisted it wasn't from Raph) before everything fell into place. So Raph got upset and took off to get some air. In vigilante-speak, 'get some air' usually meant 'get into a huge fight to feel better.' And while he knew Raph didn't always call him, he usually did after fights with Leo. Especially the big ones.

The bigger the argument, the bigger the brawl, he'd learned. After a doozy like the one he'd heard about, Raph would've been feeling reckless. If Casey understood nothing else, he understood how hotheads work. All he needed to do was ask himself what he would do, and the answer in this case would've been to find a huge gang or a drug drop and wreak a little havoc. When he was going up against bigger numbers, he always called Raph (or all the guys, depending on how big the numbers were) for backup, and he figured Raph would do the same thing.

But he hadn't. He'd gone off on his own and this whole mess had unfolded from there. Part of the human was royally pissed because of it. What was so hard to get about the simple concept of being friends with him? The part where he'd more than gladly go along as backup for a skull-bashing jamboree any night? Or the part where he knew Raph knew he wouldn't ask about the fight he'd had? They had a no-obligations agreement, practically. If he'd just called Casey (who could still hear the disappointment in Leo's voice when he'd said he hadn't heard from him) none of this would be happening. He turned the mask, running his fingers over the familiar figure.

Another part of him, the blunt, realistic part (the part of him that Raph would say was being an asshole), knew how likely it was that his friend was hurt. He'd seen the dark stains on that warehouse roof when he investigated it himself. His free hand tightened around a hockey stick handle. If someone had so much as _breathed_ wrong at the turtle when (if, his inner asshole corrected. He beat the shit out of it right then and there, leaving it to whimper on the floor.) they found him, there would be hell to pay. For all that Leo and Splinter tried to keep that part of themselves calm, he knew everybody was thinking it. Even Donnie was starting to get fierce, and when Donnie got mad, nobody crossed him. And Mikey? Here the vigilante breathed a bitter chuckle. That kid was a real wild card when it came to his big brother Raph.

Casey heard his bedroom window slide open and the 3 soft thumps that indicated the arrival of his friends. They stepped into the living room like they were entering a funeral home. Just another reason to find Raph quicker, he thought. The guy could liven things up better than Mikey when he felt inclined. He supposed that was another asshole-ish thought. These 3 were missing a brother, one of the only people they'd ever known in their entire lives, and he was was thinking about needing someone to whip out a sense of humor.

"Hey guys," he greeted with a casual wave. "Where we headin' tonight?" Leo's shoulders stooped a little.

"I'm...not sure. We don't have any leads to follow tonight, so we may just split up and see how much ground we can cover." His gaze traveled over the living area critically. Casey couldn't help feeling a little sheepish. After the last dead end, he'd thrown his couch at the wall, leaving a deep indentation where it had hit. And while he'd proceeded to put the couch back where it usually stood, it hadn't made it intact. Suffice it to say he hoped half of his future company didn't mind being closer to the floor than some others.

A ghost of a smile flitted over Leo's face: the man was so much like Raph it was almost painful.

"So it's, uh, just patrollin' tonight then? A'ight, sounds good. You guys want somethin' to drink before we head out?" They shook their heads. Casey noticed they were much quieter than usual tonight. Not that they'd been talking their heads off or anything in the first place, but he could practically feel the depression rolling off of them.

Now, Casey knew he wasn't exactly the brightest guy around. In fact, he was probably the dumbest guy in the room right now. But he still had street smarts, and being able to read people was a major part of that. So, taking in Leo's unusual slumping posture, Mikey's unwillingness to look up from the floor, and Donnie's tightening grip on his Bo staff, he got the idea of what was going on. They would be ready to give up if nobody found another lead soon. He couldn't let that happen. No way.

Casey was also aware that the chances of Raph being alive at all were slim. 3 weeks was a long time for anyone, and when you had as many enemies as these guys, it was practically a death sentence. But another thing that made it so easy to get along with the turtle was his stubbornness. He was confident in Raph's ability to get through anything. Casey could return that stubbornness anytime, any place. Now seemed like the time _and _the place to employ that factor. In Raph's absence, it was his place to keep an eye out for these guys like he knew the other hothead would. So he spoke.

"He's alive, ya know. Nothin' else can be true, cause Raphie's too good to go out a prisoner. He gets himself killed, it'll be years from now in some huge brawl, with me there to go down right behind him. And if he's dumb enough to get iced before that, I'll kick his ass back to life myself so he can do it proper." They looked up at him, surprised.

"What makes you so sure?" Mikey asked. He didn't look so much dejected as envious. _That's what I wanna see. __Lookin' for help keepin' a positive head. _Casey grinned and winked.

"Either I'm too stubborn or too stupid to think anythin' else. It's a thing us hotheads got comin' out the ears. Maybe you oughta dumb it down a little, Mikey." The youngest turtle grinned in response. He didn't make any wisecracks, but that was okay by the vigilante. That smile was the closest thing to normal that he'd gotten from the knucklehead in ages. "You comin' or what?"

Casey turned to the bedroom door. It wouldn't keep 'em long, he reasoned, not with another night of aimless searching ahead of them. But at least it was something. He glared at the street below for a second. It had been 3 weeks. They were out of leads.

Didn't mean he wouldn't find any tonight. If he had to shake down every criminal in New York City to get his buddy Raphie back, he was going to do it. Securing the mask in place, he climbed out the window.

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_So, do you like? Someone's gotta be the positive thinker, you know. I thought 'hey, why not Casey?' When lightning didn't strike me down, I assumed it worked. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Argh, this one was so freakin' hard to write. Started over from scratch with it like 3 times. Frustrating to no end. I only wanted the best for this particular sequence. Hope it works._

_Disclaimer: The copyrights aren't mine. I can only weep and try to grow accustomed to the pain in my soul._

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"You're a fascinating creature. Simply amazing. You were so well trained, weren't you, boy?" The whisper came out of the darkness that pressed in on him from all sides, just as it always had, accompanied by the sharp pain of a needle, just as it always was. Amber eyes traveled slowly towards the sound, straining fruitlessly to adjust. He was so tired...Were his eyes even open anymore? Lids flickered open, then closed again quickly. Had there been lights? Slowly, carefully, he adjusted himself and looked around the room.

It was dark, but not as dark as it had been. A small candle cast a dim orange glow around the man's sillhouette. He had always been able to look around the room, hadn't he? This was not new, and he tried to remember. Remembering...It was hard to remember anymore. Where was he? He swallowed, feeling coarse fabric shift against his throat with the motion. A collar, thick and heavy and degrading, chained to something too heavy to move, just like his hands. Chained by his sides, like they always had been. Fire spread from the needle, moved through his veins...It hurt...Couldn't the man see it hurt him?

Words formed in his mouth, garbled and tangled over a tongue that felt too thick. Perhaps the least human-sounding noise he'd ever made, the turtle considered abstractly. A hand...There was a hand pressing on his arm, patting, rubbing in small circles. A distant alarm went off: something...something was wrong. He shouldn't be _here._ There was...somewhere...

Water was pressed against his face, trickled down his throat, over cracked lips, and he coughed. A jolt of pain passed through his side, and he wondered why. He couldn't recall leaving, let alone being hurt. The man never let him leave. Never had.

"That's right...That's a good boy...Go on, drink your water...So well-behaved," the whisper praised, hand moving up to his shoulder. Something distant latched on, and he flinched away from the touch with a slight growl. "Shh...It's alright...I'm not going to hurt you, not like your last owner did. You've been neglected, but it's over now. I know just how to take care of you, don't I, fella?" Something about the question made him shudder.

Images flickered to life behind closed eyes, blurred and jumping, the edges faded away into nothingness. He could almost see their faces, green and blue and orange and purple, spinning before him in a jumbled mess, and he struggled to remember what it was like, a time when he had had a family, had laughed and shouted and fought. It was all so distant now...Like a dream...Had they ever really been there?

The hand stroked his head once, coming around to cup his face. A feeling rose in him, fast and hot and a voice was screaming at him to _do _something, damn it, because this wasn't right, this was degrading and wrong and he could feel it in his bones, a hollow nausea that he fought to contain. He latched onto the voice desperately, following his instinct because it had been so long since he'd been able to feel and something about this seemed to fit him perfectly.

Cold hand shifted against his cheek again, granting him an opportunity he would never before have noticed or dared to act upon. A feral growl rose in his throat, causing the man to hesitate. He could feel analytical eyes on him, but ignored them in favor of opening his mouth and bringing it down upon the offending limb. The voice in his mind screamed approval as the man howled in pain and jerked back, feeling grim satisfaction at the taste of blood in his mouth, metallic and warm and informing him that he'd bitten down exactly as hard as he wanted.

The blow came with much more force than he had expected, causing lights to explode before his eyes even as the chain pulled taut and he choked on the collar. His head was ringing, everything was spinning, and the blow was followed by another, and another. Somewhere, distantly but gaining clarity, the images sprang up again, and the creature's mouth twitched in a small smirk.

_He had a family. He had a name._ The realization brought Raphael from the brink of insanity, temporarily overriding the drugs he now knew ran through his system. He remembered fighting, chasing some kind of thugs down, a deep slash across his plastron, before everything had faded away. When he'd woken up, things were as they had always been here. He could see their faces, even as the man removed a small black box from his pocket and pressed a button-

-and Raphael remembered exactly why he hated shock collars. Pain exploded through his system, burning all over, never lessening, never becoming easier to deal with, and he vaguely wondered how many volts were in this particular accessory. At the same time, he wondered how long it would take to kill him. Not long at this rate, he decided, feeling the screams tear themselves from his throat without his bidding, small bits of foam exiting the corners of his mouth-

And just as suddenly, it was over, leaving him shaking and twitching and limp on the ground. _Weak_, his mind shouted, furious with him for being brought down so easily. Bloodshot eyes looked up at the man in hatred, glaring as well as he could in such a state. The man cradled his injured hand to his chest and glared back in full, eyes bright and fevered as he pushed the box back into his pocket. After a moment, his face softened slightly and he knelt down again.

"That was _bad. _That was very, very _bad_ and you'll never learn if you aren't punished. Maybe you aren't as well-trained as I thought. Were you bad before? Is that why your former owner left you to run in the streets?" A sigh. "You just don't understand." He reached out for Raphael's face again, and the turtle fought back the urge to just bite him again, cursing himself for flinching, for shaking like a child. After a moment, nodding and frowning, the man blew out the candle, leaving the turtle alone in the dark once more. His words brought fire into Raph's soul, but it was extinguished just as quickly. The man's tone had slow and firm: Raphael held in a bubble of hysterical laughter as he realized he had just been _lectured._

He was incapacitated, weak as a kitten, slowly but surely losing his mind, but the ninja could still put two and two together to make four. Today's solution was that the man holding him would put two and two together and probably hand you a dead squirrel - in other words, the guy was a fuckin' _psycho_- and Raphael was completely at his mercy. Not to mention that even imprisoned, he'd still found a way to get himself in more trouble. It made him think of Leo, and Donnie, who were always going on about him learning his lesson. He missed those lectures, the ones he knew came out of sincere concern but pushed away simply because he enjoyed seeing the older turtles get frustrated. Mikey got on his nerves all the time, which he didn't exactly mind and he figured it was just karma at work. Too bad there was no one to annoy Mikey. He missed Splinter's unbearably ninja-esque sayings that he wouldn't undertand until he was in his forties.

Raph coughed harshly, the sound reverbating around the room before fading sharply into silence. He couldn't see. There was nothing to hear. He was cold and starved and thirsty and his entire body hurt and it was maddening. God, how long had he even been here? Was his family coming? Were they even looking?

Had they been captured, too? Was the man making his way to their holding places, even now? The images came up, unwanted: Leo, lying chained up somewhere, stripped of his dignity, Donnie, staring into nothingness, slowly losing his mind, Mikey, beaten and scared, crying, left all alone. All of his brothers...left in the dark...

Staring into the darkness, fighting the screams that were slowly building in his throat, Hamato Raphael concluded that he hated being alone.

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_So what did you think? Cause I'm not entirely sure I got this right. Well, I gotta get to work on the next one._


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you all so much for reading, and reviewing! I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you seemed to like the last chapter. Now let's head back to the others, shall we?_

_Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me. It's a real wound to my ideal future._

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"Okay, guys, you know the drill," Leo stated, folding his arms over his plastron firmly. After dropping in to collect Casey, they had assembled on the roof of his building for a brief meeting before getting patrol underway. "We're going to take the same routes as last time. Try to make it a good, clean sweep. Don't rush through an area just because it was useless last time. It's not about covering everything tonight, it's about covering what we can thoroughly. Most importantly, be careful to stay out of sight." He paused to take a breath and continue, but a gusty sigh from Casey cut him off. A sharp flash of something went through his face, causing his brothers to take a few cautious steps away from the human. "Is there a problem, Casey?"

Mikey, utilizing his usual amount of tact, tried to gain the vigilante's attention with large gestures and muffled grunting noises. He shook his head frantically, drawing his finger across his throat, in an effort to convey the value of keeping one's mouth shut, but to no avail. Donatello made no similar efforts, slightly peeved that Casey would bring Leo's precautionary speech to a standstill. The sort of pep-talk he'd given earlier had somewhat renewed the genius's determination to find his brother, and the more time they spent up here, the less time they had to search. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slightly. Their human friend remained ignorant to the warnings of Michelangelo.

"D'we really have to go through the whole spiel again, Leo? I mean, ya went over this stuff last time, right?" The youngest turtle groaned exasperatedly, hands dropping to his sides. "Seems like wastin' time we could be usin' to search for leads."

The icy glare Leonardo affixed him with was one usually reserved for anyone in the 'mortal enemies' category, and fully capable of sending a group of Foot ninja running, should he so desire. The blue-banded ninja stepped forward, leaning his face towards Casey's in a challenging invasion of personal space. Mikey groaned once more, exchanging a glance with Don.

"Yes, Casey, I'm aware of the fact that you've heard this little 'spiel' before. And yes, it is necessary to run through it again. In case you haven't noticed," he seethed, oozing cold fury, "we're missing one of our brothers. I'd rather spend a little more time going over a few precautions than bring that number up to two. So if you don't mind, the only thing currently holding up tonight's patrol is _you._" The human backed up a step, hands in the air in surrender, but still bristling slightly for being spoken to so condescendingly. Donnie decided it was time to intervene.

"Can we pick another, more convenient time to have it out? Preferably when Raph's here to jump into the fray? Being out of leads has us all wound a little too tightly, but this squabbling isn't helping us, and it certainly isn't helping him. Now, _please, _let's continue where we left off." His voice was sharp and derisive, and Leo's stance immediately relaxed. He backed away from the hothead, both seeming equally ashamed. Mikey breathed a very audible sigh of relief.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that-" The human cut him off, clapping him on the shoulder roughly.

"Ah, it's no problem. Yer just tryin' to look out for Don and Mike. Not like I didn't know you was frustrated. Let's get this show on the road, right?" He said, grinning behind his mask. Leo nodded, determined front back in place, before addressing his brothers.

"Right. Like I was saying, whoever took Raph is still out there somewhere, and we don't know if they're looking for the rest of us as well. Keep hidden and be sure to check in every thirty minutes. Report if you get into trouble, even if it's only a small-time fight. We can't take any chances. If you find any clues, call it in right away and we'll all meet up at April's place. Headsets?" He asked, putting his own in place. Mikey gave him a thumbs-up, flashing a slight grin that sent an unexpected pang through the oldest brother's heart. It wasn't natural to see his creative, outgoing brother looking so world-weary.

"Fully functional," Donatello stated, any obvious outward signs of his previous frustration already receding. Leo inclined his head softly in acknowledgement of the fact. His normally pacifistic brother's eyes were bright and fierce. In Raph's absence, he had the tendency to be more aggressive and assertive during any given situation. The leader could see the message very clearly: he'd do whatever he had to do to get his little brother back. He found he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.

"Then let's get going."

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"Checking in. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Donnie?" Leo asked, timing on the nose, as usual.

"Nothing here, either. Sorry, Leo." Though his brother couldn't see him, the eldest nodded grimly.

"It's fine. Just keep it up. Mikey?"

"Nothin' here. I'll keep looking, bro."

"Alright. Talk in a few." The brothers disconnected with a simultaneous sigh.

Crouching cautiously, Leonardo settled himself upon the now-familiar roof of the warehouse where they'd found Raphael's belongings. This was where he always ended up after his initial run, watching, waiting for some sign of the unknown enemy's return. So far, there hadn't been so much as a stray animal. Truth be told, by now he knew better than to expect anything to turn up. By now, he simply wanted to be as close to his missing brother as possible.

Seeing his brother's belongings lying there, stripped from him and cast aside into a pile like garbage...The sai he had always cared for with the utmost respect...Just remembering made him sick to his stomach. Leo reached down towards his side, fingering the red mask that he had looped around his belt. A mask, a discarded pair of sai on the wall, a few stains on a rooftop... He brushed his fingers against the cold concrete, heart twisting painfully, bringing moisture to the corners of his eyes.

_It wasn't enough._

Not when they'd spent the earliest years of their lives attached at the hip. Back before the word 'leader' had been ever been brought up. It wasn't enough when they'd only recently been able to make even the slightest attempt to build a bridge across that strange and painful rift. Not when Leo had hurt his brother so badly in a single moment of bad judgement. Kneeling on a cold warehouse roof, he spread his fingers gently over a dark red stain as though sheer force of will could bring his little brother back. It would never be enough, because he might never be able to apologize. It could never be enough, really, because his brother was not _there._

Now, the eldest turtle did not generally consider himself to be an ungrateful person. He appreciated all of the lessons life saw fit to teach him, regardless of how harshly the lesson had to be administered. Like when Splinter had sent him to train with the Ancient One: he'd left the encounter a stronger person than he had been when he arrived. This event, Leo supposed, could be construed as a lesson in not taking someone for granted. He hadn't noticed until Raph was gone just how much of an impact the hothead made on their family. The younger ninja had been a constant presence, quiet and angry and strong, always having their backs, watching out for them, jumping to their defense with that insane protectiveness. Without him, they were incomplete. Without any of them, the others were incomplete. The blue-clad turtle closed his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. If he was meant to learn that lesson, it was learned a million times over by now.

_3 weeks_..._21 days._

21 mornings of waking up to a mockingly quiet lair, a silent Michelangelo, an aged Master Splinter, an overworked Donatello. 21 days of starting his katas, only to end up staring at the sai mounted on the dojo wall, waiting for their wielder to return. Knowing they may be mounted on that wall for the rest of their lives. 21 days of waking up clutching the familiar red mask like a lifeline, cutting off a scream left over from his now frequent nightmares. 21 nights of fruitless searches, building frustration and hopelessness, fighting back the urge to shout and threaten and destroy whatever he could get his hands on because Raph wasn't there to do it. His brother was gone before he'd been able to tell him how much he was worth.

Mikey hadn't taken him for granted. He'd soaked up every opportunity to spend time with his brother, to play with him and tease him and get him to laugh: that low, rumbling laugh that they almost never heard to begin with. Of course, knowing what you stand to lose before you lose it just makes the blow that much harder to take. The youngest turtle was doing his best to come through this on two feet, to remain optimistic, but Leo could hear his nightmares through the walls at night, heard him run into Raph's room as if on autopilot. He wasn't sure which hurt him the most to hear: the nightmares or the muffled sobs the youngest tried to hide in his big brother's pillow afterwards. It didn't matter when it came down to it, because he couldn't bear to set foot in Raph's bedroom long enough to comfort him. He was a coward and an even bigger failure because of it.

Was this anything like what his brothers had gone through, Leo wondered, when he'd stopped writing while in Central America? Just...waiting, day after day, for some sign of life, any kind of hint that he still existed? It was no wonder Raph had been so resentful of him. Not knowing what had happened was torture. His determination was weakening by the day, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it, to be strong for his family. He couldn't be strong much longer, he couldn't watch his family fall apart even as he tried to hold them together, like watching water slip through the cracks between his fingers, and just the thought of a future with only three brothers out of four drove him insane. This...was all his fault. He couldn't take it anymore.

Leo was snapped out of his all-consuming spiral of guilt and hopelessness by the ringing of his shell cell. Reaching for his belt, the blue-clad ninja pulled it out to make sure he'd heard correctly. He frowned, wondering why on earth his one of his brothers would call when they had the headsets on and fully functional. They wouldn't, his brain said with a sharp kick, which meant it was either April, Casey or Splinter. Without further ado, he flipped it open and brought it to his ear with a tense "Hello?"

"Leo? Leo, can ya hear me okay?" Casey's voice, loud and stumbling over words, made Leo wince slightly and pull away from the phone.

"Yeah, Case, I hear you. What's wrong?"

"Nothin's wrong. I need ya to call the guys and get to April's place fast as ya can. I got somethin' offa these guys and-" Leo didn't need to hear any more. By the time he'd relayed the message to his brothers, he was flying across rooftops at record speed.

_Please let this be it._ _I can't take another dead end._

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_Right, another chapter posted. I know it's not got the most of anything in particular. But I've got a game plan for every chapter (pretty much), and this was planned to be thrown in there. What do you think? Reviews are a request, not a demand. Thanks again!_


	8. Chapter 8

_I can't believe it! I have more than 20 reviews! That's, like, a huge deal to me. So thank you guys for taking the time, really! *applause and the passing out of party snacks to all*_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to get back to. _

_It's coming along surprisingly fast to me. Not in a rushed way, but a can't-stop-writing way. This chapter, we're cutting back a little. Time to join up with Casey Jones again. Err, a bit more foul language than I've previously used, perhaps. Lol, heads up, right?_

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He'd taken his usual route through town. It wasn't the most active night, overall. No muggings, no carjackings, no old grudges to play up...Unusually quiet. Raph'd be dying of boredom by now, Casey thought with a wave of old exasperation, coming to a stop on the nearest roof. Hell, _he_ was dying of boredom right now. But leaving wasn't an option while his pal was still out of the picture. All he needed was one good fight. Just a couple of guys to 'interrogate.' He found himself wondering if Leo did any 'interrogating' on his patrols. Didn't seem like him, not with his whole 'honor and morals', boy scout take on things. Of course, he'd been more than willing to get in Casey's face earlier. It wouldn't be the first time one of the turtles surprised him.

Like the time he'd been out with Raph and gotten them into a huge throwdown with about 50 purple dragons. Not quite as many as they were used to, but still manageable. Or they had been, until Raph pushed him out of the way of a club and took a massive hit to the head. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had a huge cut across his right leg. They'd managed to get out of there (God only knew _how_, Casey thought, shaking his head), but then Casey'd had to walk a bleeding, heavily concussed Raphael back to the lair.

Well, it had started out as walking. Soon to turn into dragging. How the hell was he supposed to keep the only guy on the planet as stubborn as he was _awake_ when he didn't wanna be? It was like asking a brick wall to please move outta the way: didn't matter how hard you tried, it just wasn't gonna happen.

Needless to say, the others had been royally pissed. Especially Leo. And Splinter. And Mikey. But they had _nothing_ on a violent Donatello. The normally pacifistic turtle, once he'd looked Raph over, had given him a thorough beatdown, spouting off about how stupid it had been to take on so many guys, and why the hell hadn't he kept Raph awake, and why hadn't he just called him to pick them up instead of walking to the lair while the other turtle was losing blood, or just plain called for backup? There'd then been a good bit about how concussions were serious things, not to mention blood loss, followed by a very serious threatening of his well-being.

Don's exact words had been: "If he ends up in a coma, if he's anything less than his normal self when he wakes up, you better pray you have a place to hide out where I won't be able to track you down via satellite, because I will be on your ass so fast you won't know what _hit_ you!"

Mikey stood off to the side and cheered his brother on (turned out he was just waiting his turn for a ride on the vigilante-beating train: and what a ride it had been) while Splinter and Leo retreated to the infirmary to keep an eye on Raph (the lectures came later, and Casey wondered which set of relatives had been worse to deal with). Meaning: Casey was left basically alone and getting the shit beat out of him without a supervisor to intervene on his behalf. Lessons learned: never lose track of Raph in a fight, always, always, _always_ call the guys when someone's hurt or in over their head, and NEVER get Donnie angry. Well, at least Raph came out of it alright.

Casey was snapped out of his - er, fond reminiscence by the roar of an engine on it's last legs. He could hear gruff voices shouting and snapping at each other as they exited the vehicle. Heading in the direction of the disturbance, the vigilante soon found the source.

Taking a quick sweep of his surroundings, he counted three guys in all. Easing himself onto a nearby fire escape and preparing to jump, Casey smirked. They obviously weren't very experienced in the trade of breaking and entering. For starters, they'd pulled up behind the storage building in an old, painfully obvious pickup truck. The engine alone made enough noise to wake the dead. Then these three idiots attacked the lock on the back door with all the stealth of a wrecking ball, swearing and arguing the whole while. The vigilante shook his head: sometimes they just made it too easy.

Two of the men were trying to ease a heavy trunk through the door while the other 'kept watch.' Another rookie mistake. Didn't they know that the more guys you had actually lifting the stuff, the more stuff you could lift? They'd at least had the foresight to wear decent masks. _Nothin' on mine, though_, Casey amended smugly. The scrawnier of the two lost his grip on the edge, sending it slamming down onto his foot. Letting out a screaming curse, he hopped away on one foot, leaving his buddy to struggle alone with the luggage. Needless to say, he couldn't hold it up.

"Damn it!" He shouted, letting it drop to the ground with a loud 'thunk.' Turning on his heel, he faced the lookout angrily. "I thoughcho' said there was another guy comin'!" The lookout put his hands on his hips.

"I said there was s'posed ta be, ya jackass! His arm's still broke from the last job we landed! I told ya that!" The first man stopped hopping, leaning against the wall of the building and rubbing his sore foot. With a grunt, they got back to toting the stolen goods.

"How the hell'd he break his arm robbin' a joint? You guys run inta that freak in th' hockey mask?" He huffed. Casey froze before he jumped, always hoping to hear secondhand accounts of personal ass-beatings he'd handed out. The lookout snorted.

"Nah, least then he'da had an excuse fer gettin' his ass handed to 'im. He was just bein' stupid: we was only s'posed ta corner some kinda animal. Like a, a big frog 'r somethin', ya know?" The vigilante could feel his pulse speed up. _No way...There was no way...Could it really be this easy?_

"Yer shittin' me."

"I ain't! Some stiff 'r another hunts us down in our usual place, y'know, offers us like five grand ta help him corner this huge fuckin' thing he caught sight of, I dunno what it was, kinda looked like a lizard, right? So Ace, the idiot, takes a good swipe at it, just gets it completely pissed, and the thing breaks his arm! Jus' threw him like it was nothin'! And 'cause he hurt it, the guy knocked off-"

He cut off with a grunt as Casey's hockey stick slammed into his gut. The other two dropped the trunk, froze for a few seconds, then took off in the other direction. Now, on any normal night, the hockey-mask wearing human would have chased them down. But there were more pressing matters at hand. He jerked the injured man up by the front of his shirt with a growl, even as part of his mind reeled violently.

"H-hey! What're ya-? Ya can't just-" the criminal stuttered, struggling violently. Casey shook him before slamming him up against the building wall. The struggling quieted down immediately.

"Listen up and listen good, punk, yer gonna answer a few questions and yer gonna do it fast, 'r else someone's gonna get hurt. Two guesses ta who that'll be. Got me?" He hissed, eyes attempting to burn holes through the man's head.

"Y-yeah, I got it, w-whatever ya say-" the man fumbled desperately. They were almost always yellow in the end, the vigilante considered bitterly.

"Yer last job - the one ya were fillin' yer little buddies in on. I wanna know details."

"L-like what?" Casey thought for a moment.

"This thing ya were chasin' down - ya said it was like a big lizard. Green? Red mask? Trained ta fight?" He asked roughly. His captive nodded vigorously.

"Y-yeah. That's it. Threw Ace 'cross the roof. Broke his arm."

"Heard that part. Yer lucky _Ace_ didn't get a helluva lot worse. What happened after that? How'd ya bring it down?" Casey asked urgently, wanting to throw himself in front of a speeding vehicle for referring to his best friend as an 'it.' If Raph could hear him now, he'd be on him so fast that Casey doubted even Leo would be able to intervene. It was one thing to call each other names like 'puke-face' and 'moron.' Calling Raph or the guys animals was like sticking a human in a cage at the zoo. But letting this guy in on the fact that the turtle he'd taken down was anything more than that would just be asking for trouble.

"The guy - th' one that hired us - he gave us tranqs ta use once we made it where we was s'posed ta get to."

"Was he there with ya? Ta move it?" Another series of frantic nods. "Where'd he take it?"

"I-I dunno, he jus' needed our help gettin' the thing inta th' trailer-"

"You better not be tryin' ta pull somethin', cause if it turns out ya know where he went-"

"N-no! I swear, it's the truth! We helped 'im get it down from the roof, that's all! He paid us an' we left! Knocked off a thousand fer gettin' it hurt-" Casey growled again, and the criminal flinched slightly. "W-why d'ya care so much what happened to it? It yer pet 'r somethin'? Cause I swear I wouldn'ta took the job if I knew-"

"PET? MY _PET_?" The vigilante screamed in full-blown outrage, giving the guy a good whack across the face. "THAT _THING_ YOU HUNTED DOWN'S A HELLUVA LOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN SOME _PET,_ YOU SICK LITTLE-" He cut himself off, struggling valiantly to bring his temper under control. Breath hurled in and out, uneven and ragged, eyes oozing no less than the utmost hatred. This was probably the biggest lead they were likely to get. Giving this guy the beat-down he deserved would have to take a backseat on his priorities list. Casey's head snapped up: he could hear sirens in the distance.

_Shit._ He turned back to the criminal in his grasp hurriedly.

"Looks like our little meetin's gonna be interrupted soon," he hissed intimidatingly. "So I got one last question fer ya, and ya better pray ta God you know the answer."

"I-I-" The captive stuttered, eyes darting towards the alley entrance. It gave Casey a small smug burst of pride. Wasn't often he could get the dirtbags to wish for the cops so openly. He shook him again, and the eyes shot back up.

"The guy that hired ya- _What was his name?_" Relief visibly passed through the other man, who proceeded to sing like a canary. Mentally, Casey roared in celebration as he carefully locked the name into his memory.

_He had to remember this. If he got hit by a truck on the way to April's and forgot half of his childhood in the process, he had to make sure to remember __**this**__._ Satisfied, the vigilante dropped the criminal to the alley floor and started to turn away. He paused for a moment, deliberated, then turned around again and hit the guy with so much force that the hockey stick snapped in half. The criminal sank to the ground immediately.

"Pet, my ass," the vigilante muttered, leaping up onto the fire escape just in time to avoid the flashing red and blue lights coming from around front. His heart accelerated as he made his way across the rooftops towards April's place. He'd gotten a name. A definite lead. Stumbling a little, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and flipped it open to call Leo.

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_Ok, it's not the best of the best. And decidedly lacking in the introspection department. But it is one of those chapters that I thought was needed to keep the plot on a roll. Besides, too much thinking can be bad for ya. This is where a particularly scribbly note on my Paper O' Planning led me, and I'm sticking with the method. Sorry, I'm rambling. Any thoughts?_ _Comments? Suggestions?_ _Reviews are a request, not a demand. As long as you read._


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9, here we are! I looked at my plans, and it called for more Raph. Which is always nice, right?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles (bad for me, good for them, I guess)_

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Darkness, he'd learned, was a suffocating force. It was a constant companion, pressing in on his senses, leaving him stranded on a cold concrete plane of existence with no idea of what lay beyond. He sucked in a ragged breath, the air going down his throat like shards of glass, a dry rasp in the silence. It hurt to breathe. The last time he'd tried to speak, the pain was intense enough to make him dry heave. As he breathed, he could feel the darkness entering his mouth, invading his lungs, his heart, like hordes of many-legged insects. It seemed to squirm, a tangible being intent on killing him, seeping into his pores, leaking into his eyes like the darkest ink. The fact that he couldn't see it didn't matter: it was still there, flooding over his skin like water, overriding all other perceptions, creeping into the very core of his being. It was still there, and he would still die in it.

Or perhaps he was dead already. The thought did not bring with it the jolt of panic and disbelief that it might have once. All he had left was cold, silent darkness and his own spiralling thoughts. Were it not for the fact that he breathed, his mind might have accepted the answer. As it was, he drew in another lungful of broken glass, choking on the liquid-like darkness invading his life. He drifted constantly, never sure whether he was awake or sleeping, never truly in one place or the other. Both only brought the same nothingness. In truth, there was a fear that if he chose, he wouldn't be able to change his mind and go back.

His limbs had become numb to the cold by now. It radiated from the cement of the floor beneath him, through his chains from the wall they were attached to, lingered in the very air around his body. The silence only seemed to make it colder, as little sense as he knew the thought to make. Silence reminded him that he was alone, and being alone made it that much easier to feel the dull sting of his prison.

Sometimes, he would hold his breath and listen. Sometimes, he was too afraid of what he might hear. If there was another in there, they were dead. Above all else, he knew that the dead could not speak. Knowing didn't stop the whispers, hovering just beyond reach, the production of his imagination in this strange purgatory. He couldn't discern the words, constant in the background, white noise that served no purpose whatsoever. They brought with them pictures of eyes, glassy and empty and dead, staring out into the darkness from nameless faces he couldn't make out, still screaming, desperate to see and be seen once more. It made him wonder if his face looked the same, if his eyes were just as empty after staring into nothingness for so long. Would he look just as afraid, just as drained, when the darkness finally drowned him as well?

A sudden sound penetrated the silence, unfamiliar and quiet and impossibly _real_, and he tilted his head towards the unexpected disturbance. The dull, heavy scraping of a door on concrete. Soft thumps indicating footsteps coming closer, breaths that weren't his own, that came in hushed panting before the strike of a match. A small yellow flame sprang to life, making him turn his face away, eyes squinting. The light flickered for a moment, then grew, and his vision adjusted to take in the figure of a man, shuffling in his direction, away from the freshly lit candle. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, the same ones he had been wearing God only knew how long ago when his prisoner had bitten him. Bright, glassy eyes looked at him from beneath a mess of hair, fevered and contrasting the strange look on his face. It almost looked like pity. Kneeling down, his hand, red and somewhat swollen, settled upon the green knee. The turtle was too tired to kick him away, resulting in a mere twitch of the ankle in his direction. He sighed.

"You understand it now, don't you, boy?" He asked softly, voice somewhat cold, hand stroking. "You had to learn, to understand, and this was the only way to tell you." The prisoner's head tilted to the side in confusion, bringing a flash of something unidentifiable into the previously pitying gaze. "You're still here. Don't you understand it yet? I left, didn't come back, stayed away, and _you're still here_."

The turtle considered his words, trying to hear what he was saying with them. Had he expected something else upon his return? Chains weren't easy to break on the best of days, and there hadn't been a good day in a long time. His eyes travelled distantly over the room, distracted and withdrawn. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, all concrete around him, grey and immobile and heavy. Just behind the man was the door, made of heavy wood, dark and almost foreboding looking in the candlelight. It had been left open, held there by something the man dragged in behind him. Another sigh, impatient and long-suffering, and the man elaborated on his point.

"Nobody came for you. Nobody even looked. Your owner, their family, their friends, they all left you in the streets to suffer without looking back once. You're still here," he stressed firmly, sounding almost eager to get his point across. It made sense on some level, his captive supposed. No one _had_ come for him. He hadn't been in the presence of any others in such a long time...Why was that? _He had a family. He had a name._ The thought was something he clung to like a child holds a beloved stuffed animal. They would find him here. They would come for him, because that was what families did.

"People can be so cruel to animals...Even now, you don't see it. Because they were all you knew. They leave you without a second thought, and you're still so loyal. That kind of loyalty hurts pets like you, doesn't it?" The man whispered, words almost a parody of a distant memory. "Just look at you. So faithful...Such a good boy...Poor thing. Making yourself sick like this."

The turtle felt the beginnings of anger trying to wash through him, only to feel the same anger die out as quickly as it had started. This man didn't understand...He pulled his thoughts closer to himself, wishing he could turn away. _He had a family. He had a name._ They were coming for him. Right?

Even as the thoughts occurred, he found himself replaying his older brother's last words in his head, stuck on repeat like a scratched record. He'd been so angry...Would he even want him back? Of course he would, part of his mind argued vehemently. Of course he would...Because he hadn't meant it. Even though Leo pretty much never said things he didn't mean...He hadn't meant it. He loved his entire family, even when they were arguing. They would be coming. They had to be, because if they didn't, he'd be stuck here until he choked in the darkness and died. And it didn't matter what had been said, no one in their family would allow another to die that kind of death. The turtle didn't want to know how long he'd be left here if they didn't come.

The man was staring at him intently, as though searching for something only he could see. It was disturbing to be the object of such scrutiny under any gaze, but the given situation increased his unease tenfold. A cold hand continued stroking, lightly, distractedly, as though the gesture were second nature to him. His mouth was turned down again, that same thoughtful frown he'd worn last time. He nodded to himself slowly, reaching some kind of decision.

"I understand, you know. You miss them, because they were probably all you knew. Just another display of how cruel they can be. You don't see it yet, because you've made yourself sick. Or maybe they're the ones who made you sick. And they just abandoned you... Shameful. Such a beautiful creature, and they left you out there, alone, and so sick, too. But you don't need to worry. Because I think I know how to make you better."

He turned around abruptly, dragging whatever he'd brought with him further into the room. His face was the picture of determination and pride as he pulled the small box to his side. It wasn't anything special to the prisoner's eyes. A plain cardboard box that didn't even look heavy or difficult to lift. Eyes glinting, he opened it and rummaged around, pulling out several items. The turtle's breath hitched slightly as he caught a glimpse of metal. The man looked almost apologetic now, almost uncertain and he hesitated for a moment. But it was gone in a flash, replaced by a smile he meant to be reassuring.

The captive looked at him with widening eyes, unsure if what he was seeing was even really there. A small knife glinted in the fire's glow, casting eerie reflective patterns on the ceiling as the man moved forward. He struggled to lash out, to flinch away, to kick or to speak, anything that might distract the man for a little while. As though reading his mind, the man's eyes narrowed and he shifted suddenly, straddling the limp legs to hold them in place, glaring heatedly.

"Yes...I think I can make you better."

The turtle drew in a sharp breath as the first incision was made. It hurt, so much more than he had expected it would. Blood...He could feel it seeping out of him, fast and warm and sticky and wet and painful. The smell, coppery and thick, invaded the air, made him want to gag. _He had a family. He had a name._ The thought repeated in his mind like a desperate mantra, shaky as he tried to pull his thoughts away from the knife in his plastron.

_He had a family._ They would come for him.

_He had a name. They all had names._ Halfway through his "treatment," he wasn't entirely sure he could remember what they were.

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_There you have it, chapter 9 of the story. It's going to come together soon, worry not. As soon as I remember where I put that stupid paper...It wouldn't be stupid if I hadn't lost it._

_What did you think? I could use some opinions, feedback, the like. Reviews are a request, not a demand, as ever. And dudes, the snacks are still out there for ya. I have a personal snacks weakness myself._


	10. Chapter 10

_This would be Chapter 10, correct? Cool. Sorry for the delay (such as it was). Lost my paper for a while, then I found it and was all 'I'm re-writing it.' Which took a while. Ahh, rambling, sorry._

_Let's join up with the others again._

_Disclaimer: I am not the possessor of the copyrights. Which, you know, isn't fun._

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Michelangelo sat on the familiar old couch of the lair, buzzing with restlessness and a recently uncommon sense of anticipation. After a brief explanation at the apartment of April O'Neil, it had been decided that Donatello's computer terminal was best suited to track down the name that the vigilante had cropped up. Shifting impatiently, the youngest turtle twisted in his seat and cast a sharp glance at the purple-clad genius. If Donnie was aware of his gaze, he certainly had a way of ignoring it. It made Mikey wonder if he'd been taking lessons from Raph lately. Blue eyes narrowed slightly. Well, if _that_ were the case...Maybe he could get something out of his brother for a change.

"Hey, Donnie: how's the search going?" He asked for the ump-teenth time in the past five minutes. The second-eldest turtle's shoulders visibly tensed, fingers halting in their mile-a-minute typing. His head turned slightly towards the youngest, who could practically see the 'don't hurt him' mantra going behind the brown eyes. In the end, the apparently natural urge to do Michelangelo bodily harm lost out to whatever Donnie told himself to counteract it. Mikey frowned slightly, a little disappointed in his inability to provoke a proper reaction from the pacifist.

"It's...going, Mikey," the genius said tersely, irritation somewhat obvious. "Just like it was when you asked 53 seconds ago. Just like it probably will be when you ask in _another_ fifty-something seconds." He sighed, stretching his arms over his head to relieve them of the stiffness that had built up. "This would be easier, granted, if I had some kind of description to work with-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Don," Casey Jones grumped, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed. He'd taken up his post there upon arrival and couldn't be swayed to go home again. "I would've got one, but the cops was comin', and I ain't exactly in their good books. Couldn't spend any more time gettin' all buddy-buddy, so I had to high-tail it."

"Casey, relax, it's fine. This name's a _lot_ better than anything we would have turned up tonight. Even without a description, it's only a matter of time until something turns up to point us in the right direction. It might take a little longer, but it's still solid evidence," Donnie soothed automatically, in the same absent-minded tone he would use to placate Mikey on his more annoying days. The vigilante scowled and sank back into silence. The youngest turtle sighed plaintively, shoving off of the couch and heading out of the room. Clearly, his presence wasn't exactly helping things along, and since he found the silence to be uncomfortable at best, sticking around wasn't a good idea.

Another sigh pushed past his lips as he slipped into the dojo. For the first time in weeks, Leo couldn't be found training there. The eldest turtle had volunteered to walk April home, but Mikey thought he just wanted to get a little time to himself topside. Probably wanted space to think and drown himself in another shower of guilt-trippage. The orange-banded turtle shook his head: that was just Leo's way, and he'd probably spend the next several months apologizing over and over again or something. It was a nice thought, but overall pretty stupid, Mikey mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Because he knew for a fact that Raph wasn't exactly the kind of guy who did a lot of talking. After the first apology, he'd just get pissed about having to accept so many of them. Maybe he'd explain that to Leo when he got back.

Standing in the middle of the room, Mikey found his gaze wandering idly towards the sai on the wall. Master Splinter had made it a point to keep them polished and sharpened, for when they finally got Raph back. The youngest turtle wondered if he knew how much it hurt to have to come home empty-handed and see them waiting there, constant reminders of the fact that they hadn't even come close, yet again. Even now, he could feel his heart being crumpled up like a piece of paper, and sharply diverted his gaze. How was it that Leo could spend all that time staring at them? He knew that was what most of his oldest brother's time in the dojo led to, having peeked in often enough to be certain of it. Just catching sight of them made him feel like his lungs had disappeared on him. His eyes, now in need of distraction once again, wandered around the walls at random, looking for something that could take his mind off of-

_Oh._ Mikey swallowed against the painful lump in his throat. The battered punching bag jumped out into his line of sight with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants. It was surprisingly dusty for only a couple of weeks of being out-of-commission, just another sign of how often Raph had used the thing. Well, that could certainly explain why Leo spent so much time facing the one wall. If it came down to a choice between the sai and the punching bag, the weapons were much easier to deal with. Seeing the punching bag was like a strong punch to the gut, an undeniable physical sign of their brother's absence. He wanted to turn away from it, to pretend he'd never noticed it in the first place, but it was hard to because on some level he thought it would be like pretending Raph was never there in the first place. He'd never been one for the 'ignore-your-brother' game. Another swallow, and a valiant battle against more tears that he managed to win, reminding himself that crying wouldn't help anything.

"You probably shouldn't have come in here." Leo's voice came out of nowhere, causing Mikey to jump and whip around to face his brother. The leader's eyes were fixed on the sai on the wall, casting Michelangelo a small concerned glance before returning to their original destination. "It...It isn't exactly- It's not the best place to be, Mikey. There are too many things that can make you think."

"I can see why," Mikey said, eyes on his older brother's face, glad for the excuse to keep his eyes away from the punching bag. Leo's face was drawn into a pained sort of frown, brow furrowed as though he were trying to solve a particularly frustrating mystery. "Doesn't explain why you spend so much time in here, bro." The leader's hands clenched and unclenched nervously, a fidgeting gesture that looked wrong considering his normally confident personality. He took note of the red mask Leo kept on his person at all times with another pang of loss. There was an expulsion of air from the eldest's lungs, a bitter kind of snort.

"I hate coming in here sometimes," he stated softly, eyes ungluing themselves from the wall to meet Mikey's own for a few long moments. "I hate coming in here, knowing Raph's not going to be in here when I walk in. Knowing that I'll just end up staring at everything that belongs to him. But I can't stop myself. It's easier to be reminded, sometimes, about why we're still looking."

"Easier for you, maybe," Mikey stated, eyes wandering again. "I don't like to be reminded that one of my bros is missing." Leo regarded him solemnly.

"Was it this hard when _I_ was gone?" He asked, voice seeping bitter irony and a little bit of sincere curiosity. The youngest turtle looked at him, eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected question.

"I, uh...Well...Sorta," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "In some ways, it was kinda worse, 'cause we couldn't exactly go out and look for ya, y'know? We could only sit around the lair and hope you were alive and just coming back later than we thought you were. Shell, you should've seen Raph about two weeks after you were supposed to get here, he was throwin' a fit. He hated that you were so far away, dude, 'cause none of us could find ya or help you if you were hurt." The leader nodded, eyes closed off and a little distant.

"He never has liked having us out of reach, has he?" He asked with a tight smile. "Too much that could happen that he'd never know about. Drives him crazy." Mikey nodded, looking far too grim for the usually astoundingly happy turtle.

"We're getting him back. There aren't any other options, right, Leo?" He asked, turning his attention back to the punching bag.

"Right." At that moment, there was a triumphant cry from Donatello's computer terminal.

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"Dr. Isaac Richards," the genius proclaimed firmly, tossing a small stack of papers onto the kitchen table. "It took me a while, but I finally narrowed the list down enough to find the one we're looking for." Leo stared at the statistics on the table with no small amount of admiration for his brother's skills. Not that he had ever doubted the genius: he just hadn't expected quite so much information to be turned up. Still...

"How do you know he's the right one, Donnie?" He asked, fingers drumming the tabletop idly. Donnie smiled fiercely before selecting one of the sheets of paper and pointing to a section of it.

"This is how I know. According to this information, Isaac Richards took out a five-day moving trailer rental 3 weeks ago, around the time Raph was taken." Leo marveled at the genius's attention to detail. From the looks of things, if Richards had so much as purchased a new DVD in the past six months, they would know about it.

"What else do we have on him? You said he's a doctor?" Mikey prompted curiously, tense with anticipation. The smile slipped from Donnie's features as quickly as it had appeared.

"He was. According to some _other_ information, he used to be a vet. Owned a pretty successful office just outside the city. It was shut down not long after opening, and his license was revoked." Leo glanced up sharply.

"What happened?" He asked, not liking the tone his brother's voice had acquired.

"Apparently, Richards had some...issues. And some rather...extreme methods of treatment." He pulled a hand from behind his back, holding out another printed page and setting itatop the pile. Only Master Splinter managed to keep himself from blanching away from the photograph of what may once have been a dog. "An intern was working late one evening, you know, changing cat litter, feeding the animals, that kind of thing. Anyway, he saw the office light was still on and stopped in to see if he could help, and found...this," the genius finished, gesturing at the photo disgustedly. "It wasn't the only animal he'd done this to...But the other photos weren't-they...Let's just say this was the easiest to look at."

There were a few minutes of silence in the small kitchen as the group stared at the photo, a mess of blood and gore and an almost unrecognizable animal. Casey's knuckles were white from the force he was exerting on the back of the kitchen chair he was standing behind, unhindered fury dominating his facial features. Mikey stood abruptly, a hand over his mouth, and rushed to the bathroom, intentions clear. With a strange noise in the back of her throat, April followed him. Leo tore his eyes away from the image, wondering what the other animals had looked like to make this the easiest to look at, and glanced in Master Splinter's direction. The rat seemed to have aged several decades in the last few seconds, gripping his walking stick for support and closing his eyes. There was a loud crack as the chair's back splintered in the human vigilante's grip suddenly.

Nobody said anything to reprimand him. Leonardo was letting the implications of the image sink into his brain thoroughly, as Splinter seemed to have already done. The man who had done _this_ had deliberately sought to capture Raphael. And he had succeeded. Time was suddenly much shorter than it used to be. Mikey walked back into the room, disregarding the broken chair as he turned the photograph over, still looking somewhat nauseous.

"So this is our guy," he said, voice surprisingly strong. "Now where is he, and where is he keeping Raph?" The question was voiced into the silence, mostly towards the papers on the table, but Donatello spoke up almost immediately, sounding disgusted and more than a little angry.

"Actually," he stated simply, "I have a pretty good idea."

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_A bit long, no? I started this chapter from scratch at least 5 times, so I guess it's nice, right? Any thoughts? Comments? Reviews are appreciated, but not exactly necessary. And whats-his-face has a name now. Which is also nice...ish._


	11. Chapter 11

_This is Danielle, coming to you live with the posting of 3 Weeks: Chapter 11. I know, I know, the announcement is a bit unnecessary, but the other day I was oozing teen angst and hatred towards the world at large, and this helped to cheer me up._

_Disclaimer: I don't own them, man. I just don't. Now please let me get on with the story, and remove your gun from the back of my head?_

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It was going to be a 2 hour, 45 minute drive to the abandoned offices of Dr. Isaac Richards. Considering the fact that they had been without their brother for three weeks already, Donatello mused, it shouldn't seem so long. Somehow it did: every second, every minute, stretched on like hours because time had suddenly become a much more important factor than it had been once. If he continued driving the way he currently was -weaving in and out of traffic with a foot pressed on the gas pedal and hands clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline- the genius estimated that he might be able to cut the journey down to 2 hours flat. The vehicle lurched to a near stop, avoiding a potential collision, throwing the other passengers off-balance before speeding up again with the tell-tale squealing of tires. Leo, Mikey and Casey traded nervous glances from their seats, having a silent argument and taking the time for a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, in which Michelangelo was soundly defeated.

He was _so_ never choosing rock again. As it was, the youngest turtle moved forward to take the passenger's seat up front, flinching as his older brother swerved dangerously around a helpless mini-van. It was painful to see him slipping away from his usual mannerisms: Donnie had always been the one who managed to stay calm and collected, who could think up a solution in any given situation. Mike bit back a sigh, feeling like he might permanently deflate if he did.

There had been too much sighing lately, he figured, without him adding on to the load once more. It seemed somebody couldn't get through 2 sentences without heaving a gusty one for the world to see. Especially Leo and Donnie. What didn't make sense to him was why Donnie had chosen this convenient moment to get so worked up. Yes, the discussion at the lair had been less than encouraging, especially the part involving the photograph (Mikey shuddered, fighting a small wave of nausea), but they knew where Raph was now. They were going to get him. The youngest turtle had always been of the mind that if a loved one died, they'd know about it, somehow. Apparently, the same could not be said for his bo-wielding brother.

"Don?" He asked quietly, eyes flicking from the genius's face to the speedometer, then back again. Not an ideal number to see. It was strange, because Donnie was usually a stickler for speed limits. Raph was the one who got the most lectures for reckless driving, followed closely by Mikey himself. "You, uh, want me to take the wheel, bro?" Donnie's eyes remained on the road, dark and lost in their own train of thought. The purple-clad turtle shook his head tersely. Mikey settled himself in next to his brother with a frown. "You wanna try slowin' it down before you get us all killed, then? We want to get to Raph just as much as you do, but wrecking the battle shell isn't exactly the greatest way to go about it, y'know?" This time, his brother's eyes glanced up to meet his own for a moment before returning to staring out the windshield fixedly. The pressure on the accelerator decreased obligingly, earning both turtles grateful stares from the other passengers.

"You know, Mikey, there are 60 minutes to an hour." The statement came unexpectedly from the driver, whose hands tightened their grip a little further as he fought the urge to plow through the rest of the cars on the road as recklessly as his missing younger brother might have done.

"Uh, yeah, Donnie, I know that," the youngest turtle answered nervously, fidgeting. He turned slightly to eye Leo and Casey, but to no avail; once the genius turtle had slowed down, they'd returned to brooding silently, trapped in their own undoubtedly intense thoughts. Mike felt Donnie's eyes flicker towards him again, but by the time he'd shifted to return the glance, they'd already re-situated themselves on the road ahead.

"With 24 hours to a day, that adds up to 1440 minutes per day. 7 days in a week. So there are approximately 10,080 minutes in a given week. And Raph's been gone for three. That's about 30,240 minutes, give or take. This trip adds on more than two hours. If there aren't any detours or stops along the way, if I can even manage to cut this down to two hours flat, it'll add up to at least 30,360 minutes." Mikey blinked, opting not to go for a verbal response, and Donatello sighed. "Never mind. I'm just rambling is all. I'm fine to drive." Nodding cautiously, the orange-banded turtle removed himself from both the conversation and the front seat, pausing momentarily to clasp Don's shoulder in a reassuring manner.

"We'll get there in time, bro. Don't worry so much, okay?" The youngest was rewarded with a tiny grateful smile. As he took up his seat in back once more, the smile faded.

Being a turtle of scientific mind, Donatello had long ago perfected the ability to remain calm and detached in hectic situations where others floundered. He was capable of running through several different possibilities and lines of thought at once and did so in what could be referred to as the 'voice of reason.' There were times when he resented having developed that voice: it was the voice of a scientist with no personal bias or empathy, stating what wasn't what you wanted or necessarily needed to hear, but what was proven to be true. Cold, emotionless, and dead. As such, he was unable to shut it up at any given time, no matter how hard he attempted the feat.

One line of thought could be found circling the images in the photographs he hadn't been able to bring himself to show to his family. Leo had tried, before they departed, to glean more information, but on this Donnie could not be swayed. Just remembering made a shiver run down his spine. It had been these images, shown in the clarity only a truly photographic memory could provide, that made him want to decimate any obstacles they might come across on their commute. They were the ulterior motive that drove him to ask April and Splinter to stay behind in the lair, and why he had tried to convince Mikey to do the same. Richards was a demented man. If they were too late…Chances were it would be difficult for even Raphael's brothers to recognize him.

This was what spurred one particular line of thought onto the subject of time. As a whole, even after traveling through it and saving the world thusly, he'd never paid particular attention to it. It could be measured accurately, counted and calculated precisely, but something about it seemed...unstable. He'd made the estimations he'd rambled off to Mikey relatively quickly, feeling waves of dread come crashing down upon his being in the process. It suddenly seemed like something he should have paid much more mind to.

Raphael had spent more than 30,240 minutes in the hands of a lunatic with a history of bloodshed and animal cruelty, the voice of reason informed him blankly. Approximately 1,814,400 seconds. He fought down a wince as the thought occurred. The chances of his younger brother still being alive were incredibly slim by now, and every second counted. He had to be there. He had to be alive when they found him, because anything else would just be cruel and unfair. Logic kicked in, reminding him in no uncertain terms that life wasn't fair. Donnie felt his mouth turn up in a slight smirk as he realized that logic, for a moment, sounded exactly like Raph.

His heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought of his missing brother, sending a pulse of anxiety through his limbs. It had taken him a little over 3 days to realize exactly quiet things got without their residential hothead around. He and Raphael were very different, it was true, but they each respected their differences. If anything, it made it easier for them to get along at times. There were no expectations outside of the ordinary: they could relax and have fun together, they could provide each other with much-needed companionship without feeling smothered or obligated to talk, without fighting or teasing or really anything. The genius missed having someone to work on vehicles with, who could understand what went where and different tool names without constantly questioning him. Raph had even fallen into the habit of making small repairs around the lair when Donatello was too busy to do it himself. All without making a big fuss, without expecting thanks or (more likely than not) even mentioning the fact that he could do it.

Raphael always had been more about actions than words, the purple-banded turtle reflected idly, scanning the road ahead for their desired exit. He was fierce and protective and strong, with the tendency to dive into situations with all the passion and force he could muster. The second-youngest turtle was an excellent judge of character, equipped with street smarts and a strong sense of right and wrong. That was one point that caused his little bouts with Leo: if what he saw as the right thing to do went against what was honorable, he wouldn't stop to think twice about doing it anyway. Master Splinter had once said that he looked at the world in black and white, but saw it in shades of grey. As confrontational as Raph was known to be, as pessimistic as he had proven himself, he knew the workings of the in-betweens. He could see on the level of the people who didn't know any other way to survive, who would never break out of the slums or get clean, even while he tried to save them, knowing they probably didn't want to be saved.

The red-banded turtle was loud, often irrational and immature, predictable and defensive enough to make Donnie roll his eyes in exasperation on most occasions. But there were also moments when something came out of that scowling mouth that could make his entire family do a double-take. He would say something so unbelievably world-weary and mature that it would leave Donatello frustrated and wondering what his brother had done in the past few years to make him sound so old. Those were the moments that made him question whether he was truly older than the hothead. Usually, the question was revoked because Raph would rise to easy bait or break something, sending them into their normal routine and sweeping his questionable maturity under the rug. Something about the cycle made the genius wonder exactly how well he knew his brother.

_He could remember, very clearly, the night of his first kill. A Foot soldier who hadn't managed to duck in time, earning himself a cracked skull on a bloodied rooftop. It had been Raphael who found him, hours later, crying over the body of a man he didn't know; a man who would have jumped at the chance to kill him and walked away without remorse. The purple-banded turtle had been 16. Donnie had expected teasing, shouting, maybe even laughter and some kind of sick congratulations, and cursed his luck, because if anyone found him, he would have wanted it to be Leo, who had always been so compassionate. Raph's face was stony as he helped his brother up, checking for injuries silently and quickly, expression carefully neutral when his eyes swept over the body. They'd begun the trek home without a word, and it had remained that way until they were a little over halfway there. Raphael brought them to a halt with a subtle gesture, staring at the water lapping around his feet for a few moments._

_"They weigh a lot, don't they, Don? Dead men." The words were whispered, slow and deliberate, eyes distant and calculating, reflecting on something only he could see. Donnie had looked away then, started forward with every intention of hiding himself in his lab for a few days, not wanting to answer the questions that were sure to come. Even as he moved, his brother caught him, pulling him into a protective one-armed hug. "I'll tell 'im for ya. Splinter, I mean. I know it ain't- it ain't much. Should've been there sooner so you wouldn't have had ta-" A brief pause as he fought for words, grip tightening. "I'm sorry. Just- fer the love 'a God, Donnie, don't let it pull ya down. It won't- there's no comin' back up if ya do." And he'd let his older brother cry on his shoulder without complaint, had told Master Splinter like he'd said he would, and then gone back to normal the next day._

Donatello had found himself remembering that night frequently over the past weeks, realizing with no small amount of guilt that he hadn't once wondered about Raphael's first kill. He'd never seen fit to ask, figuring that if his brother wanted him to know, he'd simply tell him about it. It was what Leo had done, after hearing the basics of what had happened to him, in an effort to comfort the genius. He figured the same could be said for his hotheaded sibling. That had been back when they had time for such things. It hurt to think that he might never get the chance to find out. Blinking back tears and executing a rather questionable right turn, Donatello resolved that he would do everything possible to save his younger brother. They _would_ make it in time. Raphael _had to_ be alive.

_He just had to be._

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_There we go, FINALLY done with Chapter 11. It took me a million re-starts and cost me a lot of pulled-out hair, but it's still up. What do you think? Was the mini-flashback any good? Is it OOC for Donnie? Reviews are not demanded or expected. Requested? Perhaps. Snacks? As many as ever._


	12. Chapter 12

_Continuing our story with the elusive Chapter 12. I've planned another special drop by Raphael's department for us, so enjoy (BTW, you seem to have a knack for Raph-predicting, Kallasilya)_

_Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this whatsoever. Why? Because I don't own them. In fact, I'm lucky to own a single DVD._

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Pain. It was a complicated sensation. He wondered how it was that he couldn't get used to it after so long. Of course, it probably hadn't been as long as it felt like. Time could be tricky like that, when it came to this kind of thing. Seconds, minutes, hours, they no longer held meaning. They were simply words in an overrated vocabulary, one he couldn't summon the ability to use at the moment. The only things left in existence were he, the man, and the knife. It hurt too much to try to notice anything else.

A fresh wave of pain rushed forth as something sharp slid across his collarbone, more blood welling up and leaking out of the new wound. Glazed eyes slid down to his plastron, watching it run down and onto his legs, onto the floor, grimly pooling. It moved so slowly, so sluggishly, streaming out of his veins, hitting the air with a cool sting. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows and reflecting dully off of the surface. His heart was pounding against his ribcage frantically, and the turtle wondered if it would find a way to burst from his chest as the knife was pulled out once more. He could feel it, could feel every cut, every movement, and yet he felt oddly…detached. It bit into him again, and he jerked involuntarily, causing the blood to flow out of him faster. There was nothing there to stop its flow. The man shoved his head roughly against the wall, making stars burst before his eyes, which struggled to regain focus and settled on him in a hollow stare.

"I know it hurts," the human said, voice the epitome of calm patience, "but struggling will only draw this out." His hands were slick, coated in thick red liquid. It left a sticky smear behind as he ran a palm over the turtle's shoulder. The weapon descended again, opening a wound in Raphael's upper arm where he'd stroked it. More blood. He hadn't known he could bleed quite this much. It hurt…His heart beat faster, painful and useless, and he wished it wouldn't pulse so harshly.

Part of him idly wondered if this was anything like dissection. It was a more morbid part, formed after years of threats and facing evil scientists. That piece of his mind had always wondered what it would be like, being cut open and examined on a table, with a stranger staring at him. He hadn't expected it would hurt anywhere near this much. And maybe it wouldn't have, the turtle considered. Fortunately, he'd never had to find out on a personal level. What was perhaps neither fortunate nor unfortunate was that he'd never have another such close call.

Because at this point he had come to another conclusion, his second in he wasn't sure how long. This man was going to kill him, and it was going to happen soon. The realization came without emotion, without any doubt or, on the same note, without any surety. It hurt too much to feel. In fact, he hadn't been able to feel in a while. At least he was spared from one kind of pain, he reflected hollowly. That was what happened when you were left alone in the dark for so long, with nothing but your own thoughts for company. Anything he had to feel had been felt. Any fear, any anger, any guilt or sadness, it was gone. He felt scraped out and empty. Numbness remained in their places, almost soothing. His family wouldn't be numb, he knew. When they found him (if he was found, if the man didn't bury his remains or burn them), they wouldn't be allowed to be numb. They wouldn't be able to know that he didn't blame them, that he hadn't been afraid. If there were anything to regret, it would be that they'd be left to feel guilty.

And he had always been called strong. If his father could see him now…He'd be so disappointed. He had no strength left to call upon, no last reserves of energy or tears or fear, only blank acceptance of what seemed to be inevitable. A wisp of something rose for a moment, perhaps bitterness, perhaps not, but it flowed out of his body like the blood anyway, so it really didn't matter. He'd always been good at being realistic. It wasn't in his nature to shy away from the truth or to sugarcoat things for the sake of somebody's feelings. Doing so had always seemed somehow…dishonorable, in his opinion.

Even now, it seemed that way. Why change habits now? It would be foolish to try to convince himself he was being strong in this instant. He was in pain. And he wanted it to stop. His heart continued pounding, and he wanted that to stop, too. Some strength he was showing. If he had any strength left, he'd be screaming. All he was capable of was lying there, useless, being sliced open by a lunatic. Raphael felt a sense of calm descend upon him, the kind that he only found when he was completely at peace with a decision he had made. Another cut, this one just below the one on his collarbone. He drew in a sharp breath; the pain was just as fresh as ever.

"Shh…I know it hurts. You won't have to suffer much longer…I promise."

He was not afraid. Not of this man. Not of the knife or the dark or being alone. Not anymore, anyways. He had been at first; that much was true. With nothing but himself and the almost-voices, the ringing in his ears, it would have been hard not to be. The turtle squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation, struggling to turn his head away. Everything was so distant from him now, so hard to remember; hard to place…this wasn't how he had pictured dying. Did it have to be this cold? Things never seemed to go the way he wanted them to, he reminded himself, watching random things play out behind his eyelids, little bits of memory, misplaced words and distractions that were slowly fading out.

The man paused for a few moments, running a hand over him again, and he did not have it within him to be repulsed or to shudder or to try to flinch away. All he found was cool apathy. It was just another thing happening, it was simply there and unavoidable. Acceptance…it was a good thing, wasn't it?

He was not afraid of pain. He was not afraid of dying.

Heart pounding, breaths coming in short shaking rasps, Raphael wished he could have gone out with dignity. He couldn't help thinking it would have been worthwhile to go down fighting.

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_I'm aware that this is a pretty short one. At least, I think it is. But I only had like, 30-40 words in my lil chapter idea, and it was hard to stretch that out. You know?_

_Thank you guys so much for the reviews, by the way! They just make my day. I think I can see what you mean, blueraven, about the whole 'Raph being OOC' thing last chapter. I just wanted to play up the drama lol, and that's how it ended up being. Not to everyone's taste, I'm aware. I'm glad you all seemed to like my Donnie, though! And I will most certainly try my hardest to work in some more Casey Jones. No promises, but I can try. Next chapter will soon be in the works (ooh, unlucky number 13)._


	13. Chapter 13

_I give you this in order to celebrate Thanksgiving (and getting the review number over 50), because I most certainly will not have time to post on the actual holiday. It's time for Chapter 13! I know, I know, you can count, but I like announcing now. Hard to break out of that habit. Hopefully this is a good chapter._

_Disclaimer: How is it that they still aren't mine? *sigh* Then again, I can't draw at all, so maybe that's a good thing._

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The best word to describe the place, Michelangelo decided, was 'creepy'. Clambering out of the vehicle after Leo, he looked around with a wary eye. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Sure, the trees looked particularly dead, and the boarded-up windows were practically screaming 'slasher-flick,' but that could just be him being judgmental. Like if somebody were to walk into an abandoned asylum on a stormy night: just knowing what kinds of things had happened there made it all the more ominous. It was just his overactive imagination at work, the youngest turtle told himself repeatedly. That didn't keep his hands from wandering to the weapons on his belt, muscles tense with anxiety and anticipation.

Casey landed behind him with a very audible thump, shutting the doors a little harder than was necessary. The vigilante clapped Mikey on the shoulder for a brief moment, eyes traveling to land on the darkened grey building. Raph would be in there. Richards probably would be, too. That was all he really needed to know. He was going to do whatever he had to do to save his friend. The photo from the meeting sprang up in his mind's eye, making his hands clench into fists, but he pushed the image away violently. There was no time for distraction. His gaze snapped over to meet the orange-banded turtle's own, fierce and solid and heated.

"Ain't nothin' in there we can't handle, Mike," he muttered grimly. The turtle nodded firmly, swallowing. Donatello, coming around from the front, winced at the words, hoping they wouldn't be proven false. Any kind of fighting, any traps or hacking that they weren't aware of needing to see to could be taken care of with minimal trouble, he was sure. But if they'd arrived even a moment too late…If Raphael had suffered the same fate as one of those animals… He didn't know if any of them would be able to live with that kind of guilt. They would know if they had to by the time they left tonight. That much was certain.

Leo stared at the front door with painful intensity. It had once been boarded, too, much like the windows, but somebody had recently torn the planks away to enter. Whoever did it had left the door open a small crack, revealing a strip of dark interior. Different emotions crashed over him in powerful waves. He was here…Raph was here, less than 100 yards away. His heart rate increased with the knowledge, and he fought against the urge to tear into the building recklessly and break him out on his own. After 3 weeks of waiting, of painful silences and nightmares, they would finally know. They would finally be bringing him home. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the others, eyes flashing dangerously.

"We move fast and stay together. There aren't any guards posted here, and I think it's safe to say there won't be a security system, either. Just…keep your eyes peeled, okay? He's here. I know he is." There were nods of assent all around, the air practically shimmering with determination, before they quietly eased into the building.

Casey's flashlight was the first to flicker to life, casting a dim yellow glow over the reception area. A thick layer of dust coated everything: lamps, counters, chairs, the small stand full of pet health pamphlets, and what appeared to be an overturned table. He could see where it had recently been disturbed, in the form of footprints and a wide streak signifying where something might have been dragged. Where someone might have been dragging Raph. The beam of light swung upwards, following the trail through a small hallway behind the main counter and leading to a heavy wooden door. Behind it, they could just make out a murmuring voice. Four pairs of eyes traded quick glances; Leo made a commanding gesture and crept forwards.

Mikey could feel his pulse pick up, could hear the slight increase in the volume of his breaths as Leo approached the door before them. He was itching to get to Raph, to see with his own two eyes that this wasn't some kind of dream or dead end, that his brother hadn't been swallowed up into some kind of untraceable void. Part of him wanted to yell at Leo to hurry it up, to burst through the door and take out anything that might get in his way. His limbs trembled at the surprising amount of effort it took to hold back. Another part of him wished he had stayed at the lair. What if Raph wasn't here? What if he was, but they were too late? He fought his emotions down. There was no time for doubt. Blue-banded turtle took a cautious glance around, then signaled again: _no traps. No alarm._ The others hurried to join him.

He leaned towards the door, face intense as he strained his ears. The murmuring had stopped, of that much he was certain. There was only a ringing, piercing silence, one that made his stomach clench and a chill run up his spine. It was almost unbearable. He could almost hear his muscles tensing, prepared for a fight. For a moment, fear threatened to paralyze him where he stood. There was a part of him that didn't want to open that door; that didn't want to find out what lay beyond it. It was immediately put to an end. There was no time for fear. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open.

The first thing to hit Donatello was the thick, cloying scent of blood. It was like a warm wave of copper and death, nearly enough to make him gag. Part of him didn't want to look up, didn't want to see the fate his brother had been left to. He could still see the images in his head, mutilated creatures that hadn't stood a chance. Purple-banded turtle pushed that part to the side furiously. There was no time for despair. Not if he could still help. His heart stopped beating as he forced his gaze up, terrified of what he would find. He heard the others each draw in a sharp breath, could hear his own breath stop in unison with his heart. It made his blood freeze in his veins, horrifying and disturbing and nauseating and forever burned into his memory.

The man knelt with his back to them, silhouetted eerily in the flickering light of a single candle. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, clothes wrinkled and stained as he continued what he was doing, motions seeming almost furtive. There was a momentary flash of metal as he paused, raised his arm and reached forwards in a stroking movement. They could see it _on_ him, thick and liquid, coating his hands and dripping slightly with every slightest move. Beneath his knees was a growing puddle of dark red. And there, beneath the man- the genius felt bile rising in his throat- was another leg, a clearly recognizable shade of green. _Oh, God._

Casey snapped out of his stunned state with an anguished snarl, shooting forward and seizing the man by the back of his collar. Without a second thought, he hurled Richards into the nearest concrete wall, following to pick him up and slam him against it again. He found that words failed him in this instance, found fury crashing through his veins like liquid fire, found himself unable to decide upon the most suiting course of action. The paring knife clattered to the floor as the turtles stumbled over to their brother. Richards stared up at him, shocked and seeming a little afraid, but otherwise completely placid. The vigilante tossed a wild glance over his shoulder.

"Donnie! Is- is he-?" His own brain cut off the question, unable to even finish the thought. It went unanswered for a few long moments, and he watched as the eldest turtle stood and backed away to give his brother room to work.

Leonardo could feel tears threatening to overflow, could feel nausea sweeping over his entire being, but pushed the sensations away roughly as he took in whatever damage he could see in the dim lighting. Raphael's upper torso and arms were a myriad of deep gashes and tears, bleeding sluggishly but consistently. The second-youngest turtle had long since fallen into unconsciousness, face still contorted in pain from his injuries. His breaths were coming in dry, shallow gasps, with a rasping noise that made the others want to wince in sympathy. Donatello, leaning over him around the bloody mess on the floor, met Casey's gaze for a brief moment.

"He's alive." The statement was simple, words brittle and forced as he looked more closely. Casey's sigh of relief resounded in stereo with Michelangelo's own, and the youngest turtle moved in closer to help however he could. He immediately looked over the thick chains around his brother's wrists, working as quickly as possible to pick the locks. Shackles hit the cold floor with loud, ringing clangs. Donnie's fingers deftly worked at detaching the heavy black collar around Raphael's throat. Once he'd gotten it off, he took a better look and paled, dropping it as though it had burned him. His hands formed shaking fists as he met the concerned eyes of Leo.

"It's- it's a shock collar," he ground out, trembling violently and attempting to push his anger back. "Leo, we have to move him, and we have to do it _now._" He couldn't afford to get angry now: not with a life on the line. The same didn't ring true for Leonardo, however. The leader's shoulders tensed and he whipped around to face the two humans, eyes smoldering in unbridled hatred. Casey had frozen completely upon hearing the words, overcome with disgust and anger he hadn't thought possible to feel in such depth before. Slowly, he turned his head to face the other man again. Glassy eyes met his own unflinchingly.

"I waited as long as possible," Richards said firmly, determination in his voice. "He made himself sick. You didn't come to take him, and you can't take him now. It's too late." The vigilante growled, but Leo grabbed his shoulder in a restraining manner.

"Casey, we need you to get Raph's legs. Don and Mike have his arms. We have to leave now if he's going to make it." The turtle said, voice calm and frozen, eyes fixed on the once-veterinarian. Richards's face contorted slightly in anger and a little panic. He hit the floor with a sharp jolt as the other human did what was requested of him. They exited the room in a careful procession, Leonardo watching after them sharply. The man's limbs twitched as he moved to sit up.

"You can't take him now," he protested, straining to shake off his slight daze. "He's mine. He belongs to me and I have to make him better." Leonardo was on him in a second, moving with all the speed he could summon. There was a soft scraping as he unsheathed one of his katanas, face cold.

"You **bastard**," he hissed, emanating an icy fury that made the man flinch away. "He was never yours. He's _ours._" The flame on the candle flickered and vanished, leaving them in the dark.

There was a sharp slicing sound; the faint _whoosh_ of misplaced air, a heavy thud, and Leo joined the others in the hall, flashlight clicking to life. If there was another pool of fresh blood spreading across the ground when the door swung closed, if the dark sticky substance splashed across his legs didn't all belong to his brother: no one said anything about it.

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_Oh yeah, I'm feelin' this chapter. It's the one I've looked forward to writing the most! I have celebratory Thanksgiving/50 reviews/13__th__ chapter refreshments available. Review, if you'd so like. I would…But that is neither here nor there. I tried to throw in more Casey, it isn't much at all, really, but more than I originally planned. In fact, the original plan was for him to be waiting in the vehicle and taking, like, no part in this chapter whatsoever. Okay, I've finished rambling._


	14. Chapter 14

_Uh, sorry for the wait (it felt like so much longer than it was, to me). I had a mild case of writer's block, a major case of unfinished schoolwork, and the ever-occupying holiday decorating of our family home to attend to. It could've been a longer wait, right? Here's the continuation with Chapter 14._

_Disclaimer: They're not mine. I just enjoy playing with other peoples' toys is all._

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From the moment the doors of the battle shell closed again, everything seemed to erupt into chaos. The depressing silence that had previously reigned over the rescue party all but disappeared, replaced with overlapping voices and half-shouted sentences. It was as though a small, contained whirlwind was wreaking havoc on the vehicle's inhabitants, carrying itself away in panic and no small amount of urgency. Tension was palpable in the air, thick and anxious, throughout the entire journey home.

Michelangelo had immediately taken up the position of driver, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal without restraint and leaving no room for argument on the matter. The heavy vehicle was soon weaving in and out of traffic with expert precision, followed by a symphony of honking and shameless cursing that nobody paid any mind to. They'd probably violated half a million regulations already, he noted apathetically, with the daredevil tactics he chose to employ. But that didn't matter: whatever got them to the lair fastest was the best course of action. Anything that could help his brother was absolutely necessary. He couldn't help twisting in his seat to check on Raph's condition, eyes looking over the bloodied figure and taking in every detail he could manage before catching Leo's eyes sharply. Leo didn't need to know his brother half as well as he already did to pick up the unspoken words.

_You killed him, right? _Mikey's eyes asked, glittering darkly with poorly hidden emotion. The eldest turtle's gaze softened: he hated seeing any of his brothers so hurt and disturbed, especially the youngest. It was a look ill suited to Michelangelo, who had always been able to maintain a refreshing positive outlook, and who had always had a forgiving nature. This dark look, this clear desire for vengeance of some sort, reminded Leo of the months leading up to his departure for the Ancient One's home. Hopefully, it was only a momentary change in outlook for Mikey, a result of finding Raph in such terrifying conditions. The youngest turtle's unvoiced question was answered with a cold nod. And he didn't regret his actions in the slightest. Setting his jaw, grimly satisfied, Mikey turned back to driving.

Donatello and Casey had also launched into action upon departing. The second eldest was doing everything within his power to staunch the flow of blood from Raphael's more serious wounds. His hands rummaged around on shelves and in his duffel bag, seeking cloths, bandages, anything that might be used to assist him. He kept his attention divided between his tasks and voicing orders to Casey, who had called ahead to April and Master Splinter. The vigilante relayed the purple-banded turtle's demands to the best of his ability, his own attention split between the phone and directing Mikey on the best routes to take them into the city. Leo could hear April's voice from his seat in the back, frantic and tense as she asked for more information, and Donnie reached out and snagged the phone from Casey in a flash.

The battle shell made a sharp curve, making their jerry-rigged gurney rattle and sway. Leonardo steadied it as best he could, even as Donnie shoved a towel into his hand, guiding the leader to a particularly deep series of gashes. Blue-banded turtle wanted to gag, realizing with a wave of near panic that in the better lighting, he could make out the dull white gleam of Raphael's collarbone beneath them. Donatello seemed to have noticed it too, for his grip on the phone tightened considerably. He paused in his rapid conversation with April, squeezing his older brother's hand in a reassuring manner and meeting his eyes. Leo clutched the white towel gently: he could already feel warm liquid seeping through the fabric in his hands, and looked down at it, morbidly fascinated.

"Leo, you know what to do," the younger turtle said firmly, speaking quickly and withdrawing his hand to rummage around for any other supplies he could find. "Just keep pressing down on that, don't let up for a second, even if it looks like the bleeding's stopped. He's lost way too much blood already, and we can't afford for him to lose much more before we can reach the lair." His eyes flashed for a moment before whatever thoughts he was having were pushed aside. He returned to addressing April, who fired off a short series of questions over the line.

"I think he might have hit an artery, but I'm not 100% sure, there's-there's too much _mess _in the way to tell right now, and the- the collar-" Donnie cut himself off, running a gentle hand over his younger brother's neck where the heavy material had rested. The small burn marks stood out against the green skin with gut-wrenching clarity; Richards had done something wrong while securing it, and Raphael had suffered all the more for that fact. He tore his eyes away, relaying every bit of damage he could observe to their human friend, listing any medical supplies he thought he might need at the ready when they arrived, turning to ask Mikey for an accurate ETA to give her, leaving Leo to get his first good look at Raph since well before his disappearance.

To say he was disturbed would probably be an understatement. To say he was _horrified _would, perhaps, be more accurate. He kept seeing it, how dark the small room had been even while lit by flashlights and a candle. How long had Richards left the turtle there, alone and unable to see, unable to move? Had he given up on his family finding him? Leonardo pressed down on Raph's plastron with considerable force, willing the blood flow to slow to a stop on its own, for his brother to wake up and be healed and feel perfectly fine, knowing all the while just how ridiculous such a wish was.

He watched the slight movement of a pulse in Raphael's neck with all the intensity he could muster, listened as a shallow, grating breath was let out, waited for the next one to be taken in. Every second, every space between breaths, between pulses, dragged into a heart-pounding eternity for the eldest brother, the chaos fading into silence in the background. He could feel the weight of guilt crashing down upon his shoulders as he watched a crimson stain spread beneath his fingers. His weight pressed down harder, reactions on autopilot for the time being.

It occurred to him that he couldn't recall ever seeing his hotheaded sibling quite so weak before. Everything about Raphael seemed diminished, there in the bright glow of the fluorescent light bulb, hurtling down a highway at reckless speeds. He looked so much smaller without all of that muscle mass packed onto his frame. Out of the four of them, he'd always been the biggest, the heaviest, and the strongest in the sense of brute force. It lent him an intimidating look, made him seem so much older than he was, especially when coupled with his deep voice, fierce glare and Brooklyn accent. Without that weight, that intimidation, he just looked…young. Leo shook himself mentally. It was so easy to forget, with Raphael, just how fragile a body can be.

He'd spent years watching Raph undergo hours of grueling self-punishment in the dojo, nights spent pushing the limits of his own body, jumping into dangerous situations with smart-ass comments and not a seconds' reconsideration. That was Raphael in a nutshell. Fire, passion, hidden strength and an all-consuming berserker rage that always emerged when they needed it the most. A secret weapon, Mike had once called him. He was like an unstoppable force of nature, an invincible constant that would always have Leo's back, a friend and a rival all in one. In a moment of frozen time, waiting for the next heartbeat, the eldest turtle was forced to call himself a hypocrite for thinking someone invincible.

How many times had he been called fearless? How many times had he bitten his tongue, wanting nothing more than to lay out his every fear for the world to see, wishing his brothers would stop assuming that he was? Yet there he had been, all those years, thinking Raph was too strong, too stubborn, too- well, too _Raph_ to be killed.

In other words, _invincible._

He wondered how he had come to such a preconception. Even now, Leonardo could recall half a dozen instances in which his younger brother had been unconscious or seriously injured. The leader could remember numerous occasions during which they'd had to make the awkward trip home, crammed into the back of the battle shell with their makeshift gurney like they had had to tonight.

More often than not, it seemed Raph took the brunt of most of their beatings, either because he was too stubborn to back away from a fight or because he was reckless enough to try and intercept an attack that wasn't meant for him in the first place. Something about this situation, be it the diminished frame or 3 weeks of whatever had been done to him, made mortality all the more obvious. _No one was invincible. Everybody had to die._

Leo felt his breath catch in his chest at the thought. Raphael could die, could bleed to death right here, inches away from him, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. _They should have found him sooner._ There was another cycle of breath: inhale, exhale. The pulse in Raph's neck fluttered. He waited for the next one, heart pounding almost painfully as he took his brother's cold hand for a moment. Brown eyes flickered up to observe the others in the front of the vehicle, talking and planning and doing everything possible to get them home sooner, and a wave of bitter humor washed over him.

_They should have found him sooner_, he repeated to himself guiltily. He could die right here in the battle shell, minutes away from home and decent medical supplies, from his own bed and his father and inches away from his brothers and best friend. Leo didn't like realizing things like that. His gaze returned to the pulse in his brother's neck, intense enough to make any conscious being squirm under his scrutiny. Lucky for him (or perhaps not), his brother wasn't awake to take note of it.

He knew it was wrong to request anything of his brother when he was in such a condition. He knew it was wrong and selfish and probably quite stupid, but that didn't stop Leo from concentrating every piece of his being on silently begging Raphael to somehow hear and understand his will. They couldn't lose him now: not when they had only just gotten him back where he belonged. The leader closed his eyes for a few long moments, listening to another inhale and waiting for the next one to come, praying that it would. _Don't die. Just hold on a little longer._

Even if his brother woke up and never forgave him, even if he hated him for the rest of his life for what had happened, that was fine. It would be more than okay because he would _have _the rest of his life to hate him with. Years, even. Years that Leo could use to attempt to earn absolution, to apologize ceaselessly until he was heard. All he had to do was hold on.

Another inhale, dry, rasping, desperate: another short exhale to follow it. Time returned to its normal speed and the wait began again.

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_Any good? I feel like Leo may have been OOC in here, but you guys would probably know best, being unbiased and all. Questions, comments, criticism, I'll take it all well into consideration. Wow, 14 chapters, I never thought I'd make it this far! Number 15 is in the works, hopefully to be posted soon. You can review, if you feel up to it today? lol Thanks for reading! _


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you guys for reviewing and reading and whatnot! Most appreciated! I'm coming in with Chapter 15. Can you believe it? I've never had this much follow-through on a story before!_

_Disclaimer: I have made peace with the fact that they don't belong to me…Mostly…Well, at least I KNOW they aren't mine, right?_

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Recent events had led him to discover exactly how much he hated waiting. 3 weeks of waiting for leads, finally getting one only to end up waiting for Don and April to pin down the right guy, then waiting two-and-a-half hours just to get to him: only to find out exactly how close they'd cut it. Having to wait to get back to the others while his best friend nearly bled to death right behind him. Waiting, frozen and nearly having a heart attack, when Raph had stopped breathing for a few moments just before their arrival. Another example of things being too close for comfort. It was an experience Casey never wanted to have again.

He could still hear it, in the back of his head. The way Raph's shallow breaths had suddenly fallen silent, the way everything else had frozen. Even through the phone call and traffic sounds and their own half-intelligible conversations, everyone had somehow picked up on it the moment it happened. There had been a sudden silence, broken only by the muted voice of April over the line, filled with tensed muscles and wide-eyed disbelief. All eyes had turned to the mutilated chest, which had stopped rising and falling rhythmically. Mikey had jerked the wheel to the side, prepared to pull over, Donnie had dropped whatever object it was that he'd been holding, Casey had felt his face pale beneath his mask. Leo's entire frame had started shaking, his jaw clamped shut, eyes squeezing closed and just when it looked like he might go completely berserk, Raph had suddenly coughed and taken in a thin, rasping bit of air.

Casey resolved that he owed the hotheaded turtle one good punch for scaring them like that.

So you could understand why, by the time they made it to April and Master Splinter, the vigilante was convinced he'd had enough of waiting to last a lifetime. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas, and had swiftly kicked him in a sensitive area before taking off running before he could get after it. That was what led to where he was now: waiting in silence, yet again, while somebody else handled everything. The human shifted against the old, worn-out sofa that his friends owned, eyes trained on the door to Don's lab in an ice-cold glare. Donnie was back there, with April and Splinter, doing whatever they could for Raph. He'd never been one for patience, for sitting idly by, unable to do anything to help when a friend was in danger. It had to do, he supposed, with the fact that when it came to waiting, there was no _action _in the _act._

If nothing else, Casey Jones had always been a man of action. Which was probably why this was so infuriating. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he glanced away from the door to take in their current situation. Mikey could be found on the arm of the couch, knees pulled up to his chest uncomfortably with a sketchpad resting on top of them. His eyes were glued, unseeing, to the too-loud television as he repeatedly tapped the end of his pencil on the pad. Once in a while, he would turn it around, put the point to paper as though struck by an idea, only to pull back and start tapping once again.

Leo paced, for the most part: moving from about 3 feet in front of Don's door, across the living area, in front of the television and back again. He stared at his feet the entire way, glancing up only once in a blue moon to see if the door had opened yet. When he felt he had been pacing too long, the eldest turtle took a seat in the nearest available chair, gripping the armrests with white knuckles and looking completely lost. From there, he would stand suddenly, walk over to the dojo doors and reach out to open them, before he seemed to lose his nerve and drew back. Once he'd stood up again, though, he couldn't sit down immediately, which led to more pacing.

If this had been a different situation, Casey wouldn't be sitting silently on the couch. In fact, he probably would have tossed said couch around the room by now. He had a rather formidable knack for destroying furniture. And if Raph were only a little banged up, maybe if he just had a mild concussion or something, the vigilante would most certainly have destroyed all of the furniture around the lair before heading out to destroy his _own _furniture. From there, he probably would have hit the streets to find whatever punk thought he could get away with hurting one of his friends and dished out some much-needed revenge.

But there was no longer any vengeance to be had here, he reminded himself with a slight wave of disappointed rage. Leo had seen to that quickly enough, and though he regretted not being the one to end that miserable bastard Richards's existence, Casey was still satisfied enough to let it slide. The blue-banded turtle sat down once again, and the human briefly considered suggesting a shower to get rid of those bloodstains. He would probably suggest it to Mikey, too, but he was also aware that there was no way the two would go anywhere before knowing if Raph was okay. Otherwise, Leo would have been training and Mikey would have been in the kitchen. Casey could respect the notion.

Breaking his eyes away from the sight of flaking dark red on green skin, he also came to realize just how much he hated blood. He hated the sight of it, pooling on the floor, far too much and flowing too heavily. It had a way of covering everything without meaning too, could spread like fire and get into everything like it was sand. The smell of it was still stuck in his nose, sickly sweet and warm, making him want to gag. Briefly, he wondered what it would take to get it out of there. He also wondered if Raph had smelled it so clearly.

The vigilante's eyes narrowed and he shuddered again. If they'd arrived any later, if he hadn't taken that route on patrol, if that criminal hadn't had a name for him, Raph would have died in that miserable cell of a room, bleeding and in pain and alone. Maybe he _should_ have been the one to kill Richards. Casey knew Leo well enough to know that it had probably been a quick and painless death. A _merciful _one, some could call it. He fought back a snort at the thought: the man had sliced Raph up like a Christmas ham, and he still somehow warranted a merciful end. Then again, that was just his personal opinion. He'd always known himself to be of the 'eye-for-an-eye' version of retribution, and figured that probably said something about his personality, just like showing mercy where none was deserved said something about Leo's. What it said exactly was beyond him. It probably didn't matter much anyway, he figured idly.

Another thing he couldn't seem to get out of his head was Isaac Richards himself. The undisputable hatred he felt for the once-veterinarian couldn't seem to put a block on his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried thinking of other things. He'd very obviously been insane, more than just 'a little off-balance,' and Casey wondered what exactly his problem had been. The other man had been almost calm when they found him, had sounded so sure, as though everything he said was a solid, proven fact. Even seeing 3 other giant talking turtles hadn't fazed him as much as the potential loss of his 'patient.' And he'd once been respected, with a good future and a love for what he did. Any kind of death would probably have been a merciful one for him. Sometimes it was better to die than to live sick, the vigilante figured indifferently. But, if Richards were to look, he would find no sympathy here.

The sound of a door opening wrenched him from his thoughts abruptly. Mikey dropped his pencil; Leo's head snapped up, the leader standing so fast Casey was amazed that he hadn't broken his spine in the process. Donnie and April wearily stumbled out of the makeshift infirmary, looking utterly exhausted and more than just a little bloodied. Two more showers to suggest, Casey thought distantly.

And somehow it had come back down to waiting, waiting for somebody to speak up and tell them how Raph was doing, if he had survived. All eyes turned to April first, who was shifting on her feet, no one willing to ask the question they most feared hearing answered. The redheaded woman was shaking all over, looking a little nauseous and extremely disturbed, but somehow she still managed a reassuring smile. Casey didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see that smile of hers. Eyes traveled again as Donnie sank onto the couch, head in his hands; when he spoke, his voice sounded muffled.

"If it was anyone but Raph," he began slowly, shaking nearly as badly as April, "I swear, if it was anyone but Raphael, there's no way they'd be stubborn enough to survive that kind of blood loss, but he did." At this he looked up again, eyes bloodshot and over bright. He caught the eyes of his two other brothers and their human friend, a small smirk creeping over his features. Leo sighed in relief, shoulders drooping as he all but collapsed back into the chair. Mikey glanced at April for confirmation, and her smile grew in warmth. The youngest turned back to Donatello, who elaborated.

"He'll be fine, Mike. Master Splinter's watching him for now. He's going to have to take it easy for a while, and he'll be really weak when he comes to, but apart from that he should make a full recovery." Mikey immediately turned on his mega-watt smile, happier than he'd been in weeks, before leaping up and pulling April into a bone-crushing hug, spinning her around and incoherently shouting for joy. Once he'd finished with that (and the task had been taken up by an ecstatic Casey), he tackled Donnie around the waist, resulting in a two-turtle tangle of limbs on the floor. Leo and April had watched the display, wearing the same tired sort of smiles and catching each other's eyes. The 'thank you' Leo sent her was clearly readable. Casey, in the meantime, had set the woman down and turned to face the resident purple-banded genius. Unable to resist temptation, the vigilante followed after Michelangelo's example with an impressive thump.

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It had probably been well over 36 hours since he'd last slept, and Casey was feeling the deprivation all too clearly by the time he got to his apartment. The tense anxiety, the rage and frustration that had kept him running for the past 3 weeks, had dissolved the moment Don and April stepped out of the lab door. He hadn't known it was possible to be so tired. Casey could only imagine how tired the others must have been feeling right then, too. He collapsed onto his bed with an exhausted groan, tossing his phone onto the bedside table just in case the guys needed him for something, and closed his eyes, ready for a good long rest. They snapped open again within seconds.

For a moment, it had been so clear, as though it were happening all over again. Dry, rasping breaths suddenly coming to a stop, Raph's blood pooling on the ground, the smell of it permeating the air thoroughly, the numerous wounds inflicted on his torso. The vigilante swallowed against the bile in the back of his throat. He stared into the darkness of his bedroom, at the ceiling, wondering what else Richards might have found time to do to his best friend. Wondering how long it would be before Raphael was _really _okay again. For the next hour or so, the thoughts kept him awake, teasing him, berating him for not managing to find that lead sooner and saving the turtle that much pain.

It seemed he wouldn't be getting any peaceful nights for a while to come.

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There we are, Chapter 15, done! How was it? So, yeah, questions, comments, criticism, any noticed errors or OOC-ness, let me know. Just a button-click away.

Right, we're almost finished with the entirety of the story now! Only a couple of chapters left to go! Chapter 16 is on the way, as soon as I write it. Ta-ta until then.


	16. Chapter 16

_Alright, you guys, this is Chapter 16, and I'm incredibly excited to bring it in! After posting number 15, I realized that my plans for the remainders were incredibly vague. So I had to go back and try to elaborate on those before continuing. My fingernails are now thoroughly chewed upon. Seriously, stubs for remains. Anyway, let's continue._

_Disclaimer: I made a detailed check of my bedroom and belongings, and the only turtle-related thing I am in possession of is the one DVD. No copyrights, no trademarks or whatever else it is you put into these things. _

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Mikey found it hard to believe that Raphael was really alive and back in the lair where he belonged. After the past 3 weeks of endless frustration, of guilt and disappointment and preparing for the worst and going through all-out _hell_, half of him expected to suddenly wake up, exerting a death-grip on Raph's pillow, having dreamed that particular night's events. That was the kind of luck he usually had, after all. His imagination tended to leave him stranded in all too realistic nightmares involving his brother's untimely demise.

When he wasn't dreaming of countless terrible happenings, he dreamed of finding Raph and rescuing him, or that Raph's disappearance had all been a dream to begin with and he was just waking up from it. Michelangelo wasn't sure which of these dreams was the worst to face and which was the worst to wake up from, only that it felt like he'd go completely crazy if he had to put up with them much longer. Which was why, after everything that had happened, it was surreal to be sitting in the infirmary, keeping watch over his unconscious sibling. Dreams could be crafty like that, he figured: even almost 30 hours after bringing their missing brother home, the youngest had his suspicions as to whether this nightmare was really over.

Casting cautious glances about the small room, not wanting to get caught in the act, the orange-banded turtle reached forward and gently prodded the darker green hand. His finger met soft, albeit cold, undeniably living tissue. Upon confirming that his brother was, indeed, a solid physical presence, he withdrew his finger and proceeded to give the skin on his wrist a hearty pinch. Not quite smothering a small yelp, the youngest turtle noted with satisfaction that the scenery hadn't vanished or started changing around him, that monsters or aliens or clowns hadn't suddenly popped out of the woodwork, and sat back with a slight smile. If he'd tried that while Raph was awake, the hotheaded turtle probably would have smacked him upside the head and told him how stupid he was being. That would really only be more proof that he wasn't asleep, Mikey considered, pursing his lips thoughtfully: definitely a thought to put aside for later.

As it was, that would have to wait until Raph woke up. He shifted in his chair, casting a long, analyzing glance over his injured sibling. Donnie and April had done a phenomenal job with patching Raph up, making sure not to overlook any injuries and taking no chances when it came to infection. The second youngest turtle had been cleaned and stitched and bandaged with the utmost care. Looking more closely, they'd probably overdone the bandages just a bit. From what Mikey had seen of it, Raphael's entire frame from the waist to the neck was completely covered in strips of red-tinted white. Of course, based on prior experiences, he thought it was probably wise to take the 'better safe than sorry stance' when it came to any of Raph's injuries. His brother had always had what was referred to as 'turtle luck' in spades, which never turned out well when paired with both how often he attracted trouble and how often he simply went looking for it. They'd learned it was best, therefore, to never underestimate his ability to pick up remote infections in the least likely of situations. There was no such thing as too many precautionary measures.

Blue eyes followed the line of the IV drip to the clear plastic baggie it was hooked up to. Donnie had gone into some long-winded explanation of what was in it and what it would do, but Mikey hadn't paid attention to what he said. He trusted his genius brother to know what he was doing and not to do anything potentially dangerous to Raph, so he hadn't seen the point in memorizing a bunch of facts that Donnie would just check up on by himself anyway (he'd been coming into the infirmary to check on Raphael every hour on the hour, regardless of who else was on watch). That was usually the case with Donnie's scientific explanations, after all. He didn't take unnecessary risks with his inventions or security measures, so why would he suddenly decide to take chances with his brother's life?

What the orange-clad turtle had been more interested in was how his brother had come by professional medical supplies. They'd probably been stolen, but then again, Mikey reflected, he hadn't asked about their origins. The purple-banded turtle hadn't offered any answers on his own, either. He wasn't so concerned, though, because Donatello wouldn't steal supplies without leaving some kind of note or compensation: the genius was way too nice to leave a hospital or ambulance staff-member unknowingly short on something. So the youngest turtle didn't let himself worry about it, even though Leo had cast Donnie a particularly sharp look as the baggie was unveiled.

_Ah, Leo, _Michelangelo thought with a rush of well-intentioned annoyance, smiling to himself. Once they'd been assured that their brother would, indeed, pull through, the leader had gone into full-blown mother hen mode on their asses. When Splinter had emerged from the lab, he'd insisted on taking the next turn watching over Raph, leaving no room for objection. In the end, it had taken the combined efforts of Mikey, Master Splinter and threats of sedation from Don to pull him away from the infirmary bed after his watch ended.

If the situation had been different, they might have let him hover obsessively and stew in guilt like he normally did, but there was no denying that he needed sleep and (not that Mikey would have said it to his face) a shower. He had been the last one to wash off the remnants of their brother's blood, and it relieved the orange-banded turtle to no end to see the entire family more green than red when the leader emerged once more. Mike had never been particularly fond of seeing blood on the outside of someone's body. The thought was even more pronounced when his family was involved, and he'd definitely gotten enough of blood to last a lifetime by now. With a shudder, Mikey fought down images of a spreading dark pool around his brother, eyes sweeping over the still, blanket-wrapped figure once again.

_Still breathing. Good. _A small wash of relief swept through the youngest turtle, followed up with a surprisingly powerful wave of burning anger. His fingers curled up into fists of their own accord, eyes narrowing dangerously. As far as Mikey was concerned, he should never have to be so relieved to hear one of his brothers just _breathing. _Raph breathing should have been the kind of thing they were allowed to take for granted, just like his foul language and quick judgment calls on strangers and the stupid daredevil stunts he pulled on his motorcycle. They shouldn't have had to search the city for 3 weeks just to find him, shouldn't have had to pull him out of the clutches of a psychopath with a knife and hope they'd make it home in time to save him. None of them had ever even heard of Richards, yet somehow they'd found themselves invariably involved with the man, the one man in New York crazy enough to think they were some kind of pet.

Michelangelo wondered why it was that life was allowed to be so overwhelmingly unfair, and began to seriously consider the merits of taking the initiative and growing up a little. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been the baby: the one allowed to stay knee-deep in comics and video games, the one with the ability to get himself both in and out of trouble in a matter of minutes, the brother who, even now, was fiercely looked after and protected in battles. He wasn't even sure when the decision had been reached, only that he had woken up one morning and found himself to be dubbed the youngest of the clan. This didn't annoy him as much as the fact that he'd somehow been left out of the decision-making process. All in all, he probably shouldn't have been surprised; it was a natural development, most likely a result of his determinedly carefree nature, and his brothers and Master Splinter had always done everything in their power to protect that.

Raph, especially, had the tendency to ignore the fact that he was capable of taking care of himself (for the most part). Despite any loud protestations to the idea, he'd probably taken one of the biggest parts in Mikey's admittedly spoiled upbringing. Sure, he could be rude, blunt and ruthless, and sure he was usually the first to jump his little brother and swap insults when the situation allowed it, but that wasn't all he was good for. There were few things he took as seriously as his position as Mikey's big brother. He'd staked a protective claim over the youngest from day one, always the first to confront imaginary monsters under the bed, always managing to get himself between the orange-banded turtle's shell and an overlooked enemy, a solid wall of defense who made it his business to have his brothers' backs.

Surely there was something to be said for being able to protect him in return, Mike considered bitterly, especially when he so rarely needed somebody to do it. The brother who, out of all of them, took protecting the city the most personally, who always tried to separate himself and his problems from everybody else, who tried to ask for help without actually asking. And somehow, when he'd needed it the most, Mikey hadn't been able to do anything. If there was one thing the youngest hated, it was being helpless to do anything for one of his family members when they had always done so much for him. It had always seemed like such a terrible way to show his gratitude; like when they hadn't been able to stop the Shredder from blowing up April's apartment building. After all she'd done to help them out when they didn't have a place to go, they couldn't even keep her from having the same problem.

But, he supposed, the past was in the past and there wasn't anything to be done about it now. A small frown turning down the corners of his mouth, he reached forward again, gently straightening Raph's blankets. Just like with April's apartment, just like with Richards; all that was left to do was take care of what they could still take care of. His glance passed over the older turtle's face, dropped to the floor, then shot back up with a sharp intake of breath. He pulled his hand back, scrambling to his feet excitedly as he caught a sliver of amber color from beneath struggling eyelids. Mikey stuttered for a few moments, mind frozen and his capacity for speech temporarily abandoning him before he scraped together his composure once again.

"I, uh-Raphie? Can you hear me?" Dark green head shifted slightly, eyes cracking open into little slits as they adjusted to the light. His heart leapt into his throat in excitement, pounding painfully, and the youngest cracked a smile. "Right, just hold on a sec, don't go anywhere- wait, of course you're not gonna go anywhere, what am I thinking, you're home and everything- just stay put, or, uh, never mind, I'm gonna go get Donnie, okay?" He fumbled out, stumbling over his own two feet as he scrambled for the lab door. Raph just blinked rapidly in response, eyes showing a small amount of surprise as they traveled over his surroundings, flickering in recognition.

If they seemed a bit lacking in other emotion, Mikey figured it wasn't anything to worry about.

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_There you have it: the 16__th__ chapter! There are either one or two chapters upcoming, I can't decide if I want to add another one in or not. The original plan calls for only one chapter after this, like an epilogue or something, but I'm considering one more between now and then. Sorry, I know I'm rambling, just letting you know that I'm still deliberating, so this is the only chapter I'm posting today. I know, I know *insert sarcasm here* I'm SO terrible about updating lol._

_Comments, questions, criticism, I appreciate any and all reviews and opinions. Especially wanting to know if my Mikey's too OOC. Never considered myself a very strong Mikey-writer, you know? Anyways, I'd appreciate the feedback, but it isn't a demand. Just having readers is surprising enough lol _**(^-^)**


	17. Chapter 17

_This is now officially- meaning no changing my mind or my plans for the future- the second to last chapter of the story. I decided that I would add this one in before hitting the epilogue of sorts. Just to, you know, throw a little something more in there. This is a Raph-centered chapter; hope you like._

_Disclaimer: You can't sue me, because I admit that they don't belong to me! *Hugs the story* Don't worry: you won't get deleted!_

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To assume he was alive, he figured, would probably be jumping the gun a little.

It wasn't as though Hamato Raphael had had a lot of experience with dying and the rather ironically named afterlife to judge his current situation by. Searching his memory, he found that he could distinctly remember undertaking the rather arduous task of accepting his fate- never an easy step for the hotheaded ninja to take, having always been of the opinion that one creates their own destiny. The situation, it was true, hadn't been ideal for the sudden swallowing of pride and stubbornness that accompanied such a feat; and he certainly hadn't enjoyed the process leading up to it. Pain was never a desirable factor in the decision to better oneself and on some level, he supposed it looked a lot like giving up. On some level, it had _felt _like giving up: but there had been other matters at hand more important than whether he should berate himself for quitting.

Considering the circumstances he'd been in for so long, he had deliberated and finally come to a pretty logical conclusion. His conclusion being that he was going to die in that room, chained to a wall and face-to-face with a psychotic stranger, aware of having nothing but candlelight and the smell of his own blood by the end of it; and factoring in from there his apparent lack of what seemed to be _any_ kind of good luck, he had prepared himself for the inevitable. That acceptance in itself had been a new venture. He'd never been able to be graceful in the wash of stinging defeat, but defeated he had been, and prepared to accept the consequences as such.

There had been regrets, of course, and last wishes; something one often finds in endless supply when it seems they will not live to see another day. Thoughts of his family, apologies he'd never be able to give, holidays he would miss and the like. Left in the dark for so long, he'd found the time to address and process every single thought to float through his head, analyze them to the fullest extent of his abilities, and make peace with all of them. By the time the man returned again, there was nothing left to think about, and he was (as much as could be said in such a situation) ready. He was _at peace _and for the most part emotionless, and that had been entirely new.

Raphael, even as a child, even when he didn't fully understand it, had always been able to feel _something _in a given situation, no matter where he found himself to be. Primarily, he dealt in anger: it had always been there, for as long as he could remember, bubbling beneath the surface like a dangerous undercurrent, waiting to pull him down and sweep him away at the slightest misstep. Where he was, who he was with, what he was doing, those things were never taken into account and his anger continued to bubble away, picking at things that shouldn't have bothered him to begin with, blowing them out of proportion. Many times, he'd wondered if that was all there was to him at the end of the day: anger and frustration that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried or how often he meditated (which was certainly more often than Leo gave him credit for, but perhaps not as often as had been suggested by his father). When he couldn't vanquish it, it only opened up new levels of frustration, turned his anger inwards, built up until he could no longer contain it and had to do something, _anything, _to relieve some of the pressure and snapped.

He'd found, upon close reflection, that most of his final regrets rotated directly around the aftermaths of such cases, and regretted that it had to be so. Because, on top of all the other things crossing his mind, he'd also made serious, damaging, overwhelmingly stupid mistakes that hadn't been rectified properly in most cases (for instance, his last argument with his older brother, who would blame himself and never know that Raphael hadn't blamed him, or that the red-banded ninja in question knew he hadn't meant what he implied). There had been other things, also, that he'd never known he was sorry for to begin with.

Last regrets, as it turned out, were tricky things to consider. Where some would regret not being able to say goodbye (a regret that had crossed his mind more than a few times, admittedly), and on top of regretting his biggest fumbles, he had found that he also regretted trivial things like not playing video games with Mikey the last time he'd been asked, or not changing one of the light bulbs in the garage while Donnie had been too busy to do so, or even not returning the book of matches he'd borrowed from Leo a few weeks prior. He'd regretted not being able to have had a bowl of cereal before leaving the lair, regretted not having more microwave popcorn in his life, and other such things as food he hadn't eaten (at this point in time, he'd been quite literally starving, so food had been a commonly recurring theme in his mind) and places he hadn't seen (the most piercing place had been one last trip to the old farmhouse: he'd always wanted to see it without dire circumstances driving him there).

Once all of his wishes and theories and self-probing questions were addressed and moved on from, Raph had found himself in an emotional limbo of sorts. Cool acceptance of his situation and what was almost certainly going to happen to him there. And if that something _were _to happen, then it was simply _going _to happen, and he certainly wouldn't fight against anything that might remove him from the hellish freezing darkness encompassing his being. It was sort of a gamble, really, where death was involved, because even if there were something more after the proverbial end, there were no guarantees for giant mutated turtles in the works; but he had always been particularly attracted to risky endeavors anyway, and one more towards the end had suited him perfectly.

All of his greatest fears and remembered triumphs, his petty and most shameful sensations to his single most defining moments had been replayed behind closed lids (or perhaps before open ones: it was always so hard to tell) for him to observe. He'd seen them as though from a distance, not quite there enough to feel it, but close enough to think he might. Every piece of his soul had been dissected and bared, strung out and prodded and considered. Every lie he'd ever convinced himself to be true, every cruel thing that he hadn't _not _meant, was pulled out of him and examined and, at long last, laid to rest as he accepted what was coming. There had been pain, and everything had faded away like the last scene of a movie fades away before the credits start rolling.

So one could understand his skepticism when he found his consciousness sluggishly churning upwards and out of the darkness for the first time in what seemed like forever. It had always been more natural to his disposition to stubbornly hold onto whatever he had originally deemed to be true. His first immediate conclusion was that he was, indeed, dead as a doorknob. Which was fine by him: he'd prepared himself for that very outcome, had in fact embraced the likelihood of it with an open mind and an apathetic heart.

The first thing to knock him away from the idea was how distinctly _alive _he appeared to be. Above all else, there was the presence of pain; and while it was certainly nowhere near what it had been, and on the other hand certainly not alleviated, it was _there_. He could feel the air burning his throat as he took a breath (the second factor he considered in argument to his being dead), the stinging sensation of something pulling in his chest as it expanded, a fine stiffness in all of his limbs (which he was having some trouble finding, swimming in disorientation as he was), and a heaviness, as though someone had chosen to set a load of bricks on top of him, keeping him pinned where he was.

Opening his eyes became much harder than it had been once, a trying chore that was hard to get a grip on. Upon convincing his eyelids to submit to his demands, he found himself in the presence of a large orange and green _blob _of sorts, and it was definitely moving too fast for its own good. There were words that didn't quite cut through the ringing in his ears, and he turned his head to face the ceiling, letting his eyes adjust at their own pace, blinking to help them along. Things still weren't quite crystal clear by the time he recognized the ceiling of Donatello's laboratory, but then again, he'd woken up in there often enough to be sure of it once the thought crossed his mind. So he appeared to be back in the lair. That was surprising.

By the time the large green blob returned with company, his eyes had cleared up enough to make out the blurred figures of his family. Well, if he _weren't _alive, this simply wouldn't do: it had always rested somewhere within his plans to be the first to go down, and it just wouldn't be fair if they'd somehow managed to beat him to it. The likeliness of that, he considered, wasn't high at all. Everybody crowded around him at once and he was certain they were talking, but his head was _killing _him at this point, so he utilized the life-saving properties of selective hearing and let them drone on as much as they wanted in the meantime, gaze wandering over the familiar settings impartially. The olive-green hand of Donatello stretched over him, grasping his shoulder warmly as the genius turtle attempted to get his attention on the stream of words directed his way.

Alertness slammed into Raphael with all the subtle force he was accustomed to. For a moment, everything was clear: for a moment, he was chained to a wall and watching candlelight cast shadows on empty concrete and the presence of anyone wasn't a good thing, and being touched _definitely _gave off a foreboding air. The darker turtle urged himself to somehow find and control his limbs, with the full intent of pulling away and preparing to fight it out if need be, as he no longer appeared to be reduced to motionlessness. His arm stirred in a decidedly weak manner in response, but the hand on his shoulder seemed to get the picture, carefully drawing back. Amber eyes darted back and forth, taking in his surroundings and actually registering them for what they were. He felt his pulse slow down in the presence of more words, volume lowered but with voices he knew and recognized, which was more than he could have said for the voices he'd heard whispering in the dark.

So his family had found him after all. What was more, they'd found him and somehow, or so it seemed, managed to get him back alive. He observed the situation as though through some kind of barrier, gaze flickering from face to face as he waited for whatever they planned on doing now. Leonardo pulled Donnie to the side, eyes burning with concern and unhidden anger, though it didn't appear to be directed at anybody present, and conversed with the genius in low tones. Mikey and Master Splinter stayed by the bed, the latter cautiously placing a warm hand on his forehead while the former seemed to be fighting the urge to tackle him and sob uncontrollably, and realization came swiftly after the fact.

_He was alive. _There were no leftover doubts, no reasons to second-guess, and no more skepticism about the idea of it. Raph was alive and at home with his brothers and his father. Maybe it would have been wise to observe more of the situation before reacting as he had: he'd caused his family no small amount of concern in the process. He would have said something, perhaps tried to explain, but his throat burned too much to do anything of the sort just yet, and he suspected they would have stopped him anyway.

Raphael supposed he ought to have felt relieved, overjoyed, maybe even upset about the fact that he had lived or come so close to _not _living, but in their places he found only hollowness and confusion. Sure, he hadn't exactly wanted to die, but he'd been prepared, had had no choice but to prepare for it, had expected it to happen. After spending his time alone in the dark, trapped with his own thoughts, there had really been no other course of action to take. And yet, despite all odds and against his first perceptions, he was home again; _he was alive. _Eyes roving about the room again, the turtle couldn't help but wonder:

_What was he supposed to do now?_

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_Okay, there's the end of Chapter 17. The last one will (hopefully, but no guarantees) be up in the next 1-3 days. So, what did you think? Any errors? OOC? Something that didn't quite mesh? I'd really like to know, because the end of a fic is quite possibly the worst time to start descending in quality, and this felt a little off somehow. Can't quite put my finger on it. So review, if you will._

_Oh, and if the writing style seemed a little weird, I'd blame Charles Dickens. Anyway, thank you for reading the chapter! *sparkles*_


	18. Chapter 18

_Well, this is it: Chapter 18, the last one in the story! I'm very happy to have actually written a story through to the end for a change! Please, let me know if it isn't quite up to par, I really feel like the last chapter is one of the most important, and so it should be among the best. Our nice little conclusion._

_Disclaimer: You guessed it: I don't own them, and I'm not making money off of them. I really need to find a way to make money, though…Christmas is coming up._

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In some ways, it was like their brother had never come back at all, Leonardo considered bitterly, watching as the silent figure sitting before him on the dojo floor cleaned a sai using slow, meticulous strokes. Raphael gave no sign indicating whether or not he'd taken notice of the intense gaze cast upon him, but a large part of Leonardo was certain that he had: the second-youngest turtle had always had an uncanny ability to sense the presence of anything lasting longer than a passing glance. Once, at a point in time in the past that wasn't as far away as it currently felt, dragging the leader's heart downward with a painful lurch, his temperamental brother would have grown defensive under such scrutiny as this. The incident would have brought forth some sort of snarled insult, some sort of confrontational gesture that might have ultimately led to a fight between the brothers that would send the younger of the two storming out into the sewers alone. Taking in the passive emptiness of the face before him, choking down a sigh, the eldest turtle noted that he hadn't heard Raph snarl in ages.

It was the sort of thing he hadn't known was possible to be taken for granted; in fact, he'd found it aggravated him in most cases in the past. But it had also been a defining portion of Raphael's personality, as much of a part of him as Michelangelo's genuine laugh or the soft noises Donatello made in the back of his throat while considering a sizable problem, and the absence of it had been remarkably striking to the small family. All in all, one didn't really need to know Raphael that well to see that he had changed.

It was like a hazy aura surrounding him, expanding and retracting as he moved, almost visibly warping the air it came into contact with and leaving a sense of confusion, distraction and restlessness in its wake. The aura of someone who had changed, who could tell they were different than they had been once and, though they possibly knew the reasons behind it, didn't know how to go back to who they were supposed to be. His family, on some level, felt that if he would just explain what was going on in his mind, they might be able to better understand this new, subdued version of the Raphael they'd known, might be able to find some leftover traces of his original personality.

On more than just a few occasions, Leo or one of the others had found him having wandered off in the middle of some sort of activity, sitting propped up against a wall and staring blankly at his hands, at the punching bag, at the floor, as though completely at a loss as to what he should be doing. Upon being discovered in such a state, Raphael would head back into the company of others once more, leveling them with toneless apology and an indifferent stare. Just remembering the hollowness in his little brother's eyes gave Leo's heart a painful squeeze. Everyone tried, with varying levels of success, not to show Raphael how much pain this new distracted detachment pulled at their hearts, as he seemed to be genuinely unaware of the fact and, for his part, trying to figure things out.

Leonardo's gaze dropped to the dojo floor, eyes softening as he wished for his brother to say something, anything to him: anything that might break the silence. The odds, he knew, weren't in his favor. Since being retrieved from Richards, Raphael conversed with all the enthusiasm of the living dead, responding only when directly prompted to speak, voice never rising above a dull murmur regardless of the topic being discussed. By and large, he seemed uncomfortable with speaking, eyes tending to wander and observe his surroundings cautiously as he spoke, as though expecting something dangerous to spring out from behind the sofa at a moment's notice. Donatello had theorized (with his eyes narrowed dangerously at nothing in particular and hands forming white-knuckled fists) that it probably had to do with the collar that the veterinarian had kept on him, much like his reluctance to enter the candlelit room of their sensei when called and his newfound distaste for unwarranted physical contact.

The fact that they were generally helpless to do anything to ease his discomfort frustrated them as deeply as it pained them to see their brother struggle alone. Each family member coped with this in their own ways. Donnie had taken to obsessively checking in on Raph's injuries, even after the removal of the numerous stitches and the second-youngest turtle's return to his feet. Michelangelo was little better, constantly on the alert for Raph's presence with the tendency to overreact should he suddenly be found to have left a room. Neither of them had allowed their brother to enter the dojo while they were around, despite the fact that he was well and up to practicing on his own. He'd been unable to convince them of the fact and generally had to wait until they were both absorbed in other activities before attempting to enter. Leo and Master Splinter let things go as they would, feeling that eventually things would be settled into a semi-normal routine once again.

"I see you finally made it to the dojo. So where are Don and Mike?" The eldest asked quietly, finding that Raph's quiet presence made it feel strange to speak too loudly. Raphael glanced up at him, a little surprised to notice that he was being addressed directly: lately, his family had developed the troubling habit of talking around him rather than to him, and he'd probably gotten used to the process. Getting over himself, he went back to cleaning his weapons impassively.

"April's," came the muttered reply, as short as every other reply tended to be lately. Leo nodded in acknowledgement, ignoring to the best of his ability the pang in his heart.

All-too-familiar waves of guilt attempted to sweep him up and drown him, growing more powerful every time he watched his brother walk out in the middle of a supervised group practice, every time he had to watch the familiar amber eyes widen and flicker abruptly away from a small yellow flame, every time he heard the younger ninja speak in the dry, dead voice that only served to remind him, time and time again, of the fact that he had failed to reach his little brother in time to really save him. He'd been fooling himself in thinking that things would immediately return to the way they'd once been upon getting their missing piece back. The realization was like a hard punch to the face every time it resurfaced, losing none of its potency and power with each entrance and bearing down a little more on his soul each day. Brown eyes observed emerald hands in their repetitive motions once more, not quite seeing them and not quite somewhere else.

"I'm sorry." The words fell from his mouth like dark, heavy stones, splitting in the silence as they dropped.

He was only vaguely aware of speaking them, really only coming to himself afterwards with the knowledge that they had been said and that nothing in the world could make him attempt to take them back or cover them up. His brother's hands paused in their task, conveying the stunned surprise that the red-banded ninja's face was probably exhibiting, if Leo had been able to summon enough courage to look just yet. He could almost physically feel Raph's gaze shifting onto him, heavy as it was, and felt his shoulders beginning to sag with the weight of it. Raphael shifted in place, carefully setting his weapons to the side before bringing his hands to rest on top of his knees. There was a moment of silent contemplation that stretched into an eternity for both parties involved, a struggle to find some kind of response, before two more words fell onto the pile growing on the ground, nearly silent in their descent.

"For what?" The younger brother asked, voice containing a modicum of surprise and caution, as though able to sense that this would end up leading somewhere emotional and requiring deeper, more meaningful words. It was true that he'd never been one for words to begin with, but now the simple task of conversing seemed entirely too confusing to put up with. In spite of himself, the leader glanced up incredulously. Raphael's head was tilted to one side, blank eyes observing the eldest more closely than they had in weeks. The blue-clad ninja faltered for a few seconds, wavering in his resolve to settle past events, surprised that he should have to explain what, to him, was exceedingly obvious, before finding something to say.

"For what? I- God, Raph, where am I supposed to even _start_? For-for everything!" He burst out, seeming a little outraged. "For not finding you sooner, for not getting you out of there in time, for not following you when you left the lair in the first place, for getting into that stupid fight with you to begin with! I mean, if I hadn't said- If I'd just- none of this would have happened in the first place! Everything would be normal, we wouldn't have lost you, you wouldn't be- you wouldn't-" at this, he cut himself off, finding that words were suddenly much more difficult to dredge up. His brother's eye ridges raised slightly as he contemplated what had been said.

"That is…" He began slowly, brow furrowing in concentration as he picked words to the best of his ability. "…stupid." Leo nearly palmed his face; leave it to Raph to take his brother's desperate, sincere apology and tear it down in three words immediately upon receiving it. He sighed, dropping his head in defeat.

"Can't you just accept it and make this easy for me, just this once?" He asked tiredly, voice dim. Amber eyes fell once more into their newfound habit of aimless wandering, no longer able to concentrate solely on the only other living presence in the room. His head shook slightly in response to the rhetorical question.

"I…started the fight. Didn't have to. Didn't have to leave, or go topside, or go after those…those guys. But I did." The statement was hesitant and toneless: for a moment, he sounded like Donnie while in the midst of long-winded scientific explanations. _Logical, _Leo's brain offered as a suitable description. "I did, 'n it happened, 'n it's not…important…anymore. 'N you didn't mean it. Shouldn't be apologizin' fer what I brought on myself."

The summation of the statement was not lost upon Leonardo, who sat in stunned immobility for a few moments as it sank in. His shoulders tightened, his mind whirred, and he reached forward to grasp the thinner forearm in an iron-tight grip, eyes flashing.

"Don't you dare," he hissed firmly, voice sharp with emotion. "Raphael, don't you dare tell me this was your fault. You didn't _do _anything to deserve- you _never_- Even the dumbest, most reckless thing you ever did couldn't be enough to-" Pausing for a moment, he made an effort to control himself, loosening his grip and starting guiltily as the limb was sharply jerked from his hand. That it had been trembling did not escape the eldest turtle's notice, and he mentally bashed his own head in for his stupidity, glancing up to survey the damage. His brother seemed alright, for the most part, though his eyes darted to the open dojo door, probably judging just how quickly he could get out if need be. _Fantastic. _

"Shell," the leader breathed softly, bringing a hand to his forehead in a frustrated fashion. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- to scare you, it's just-" here he interjected a broken half-sigh, half-bitter laugh. "Of all the things you could have said, all the different places to cast the blame, I didn't expect to hear that. You-you can't seriously think this whole mess was your fault, Raph; because that would be about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." He glanced up again, trying to gauge his brother's reaction to the statement, unable to read anything from the younger turtle. "Just don't even _think _it again, alright? Never again." The stumbling statement concluded sternly, the end of the words breaking off in a brittle manner and leaving nothing but silence, which stretched on for a few minutes while Raphael resumed his task uncertainly. After a time, he heaved a slight sigh.

"Gonna get better eventually," he supplied, looking more uncomfortable than ever. "Gonna…I'll be…okay." Leo nodded wordlessly, standing and making his way to the door, staring at his feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world. "An' for the record…" The elder paused, turning back to meet flickering amber eyes. They held his gaze firmly for a moment, something familiar but not quite identifiable moving beneath the surface as the weapons were belted at long last. "Wasn't scared." There was more than just one meaning to those words, the eldest was sure, but he didn't pursue the matter further, a slight smirk turning up a corner of his mouth.

"No," he replied as casually as he could, swallowing slightly. "No, of course not."

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_Thank you all so much for sticking around until the end; for reading and reviewing and being all-around fantastic! I certainly appreciated it! Now I just have to figure out what I want to do next…Jeesh. _

_As with all prior chapters (aha, thought you'd get away from it, eh, number 18?) I would like to hear what you thought. Looking for any feedback, really, especially OOC portions, spelling/grammar/wording errors and the like. I simply cannot afford to downgrade in quality now of all times. And yeah, seriously, thank you!_


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